


Seven Nation Army

by WaxAgent



Series: Lovesong [7]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 27 years later, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, FINALLY GUYS, Gay Sex, Horror, M/M, Neibolt!Eddie - Freeform, Panic Attacks, and I love it, liberal doses of BAMF!Eddie, look out for easter eggs, mixed-canons, more tags tba, they're at the forty year mark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaxAgent/pseuds/WaxAgent
Summary: Eddie doesn't want to go. He doesn't want Richie to go. He knows that there's nothing good for them back in Maine, but he feels the strength of an old oath tugging at his heart, undeniable and as strong as the bonds of time, and he knows just as well that there isn't any escaping it.So; Eddie and Richie go home to Derry.





	1. Summersong

**Author's Note:**

> The year is 2016. Eddie is forty-one, and Richie is forty.

“No, no, no! No way,” Eddie slammed his hands onto his kitchen counter, laughing, his shoulders shaking with it. “What does he want to name your baby?”

“Eddie, stop!”

“No! Say it again, this time with a straight face.”

“Stop it, I said,” Annie giggled, both hands over her face. 

“Don’t tell me to stop, tell Jesse to stop! _Broomhilde_ , really? Broomhilde Matusiak?”

“I swear my water’s gonna break if you keep making me laugh, Eddie.”

“Wait,” Eddie’s head shot up, the smile dying off of his face. “Is…that’s not a thing, right?”

“Maybe,” Annie smirked. She twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger and patted her huge belly. “Eight months in, anything could happen.”

“I wish you wouldn’t scare me like that,” Eddie shivered. “Honestly. I’d have no idea what to do, I’d --“

“Why? You’re a doctor.”

“Yeah, and you’re a doctor too; doesn’t mean either one of us knows how to deliver a fucking baby.” Annie laughed and Eddie hopped up to sit on his counter. He smiled at her, kicking his feet aimlessly. “It’s getting so close, now. You nervous?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. She ran her fingers over the bulge of her stomach thoughtfully. “Of course I am; but Jesse will be there, and you’ll all be there right after and then…I’ll have a baby,” she beamed at him. “I don’t know, yeah, I’m nervous- but it’ll be _my_ baby.” 

“Broomhilde Matusiak--“

“No!” Annie shouted, laughing again. “Jesse knows that shit won’t fly. I told him I’d settle for Freya and even that’s a heavy compromise.”

“I like Freya,” Eddie mused. “It just seems like such a big name for such a little baby.”

“It’s a mantle to grow into,” Annie said. “We can’t all be Edwards and Annies. Here, help me up.” Eddie reached out from where he sat and Annie took his hands. She stood with a great effort; she was lithe and lovely in the twilight of her thirties, but had the odd look of a ballerina who’d swallowed a watermelon. She was dressed in silver and peach, and her wedding band and engagement ring were huge against her small hands. “I forgot, I brought you this,” she reached into her knit bag, pulled out a rolled up periodical, and handed it to Eddie. He unraveled it on his lap; it was the latest issue of Rolling Stones magazine.

“Oh, wow,” Eddie grinned. “It’s out already? Thanks, Annie.” Richie, Lettie, and Jesse were on the cover and, since it had been announced, Eddie had been waiting for it with thinly disguised excitement. 

And what a cover it was; the three of them were slumped against each other on a ripped couch, all in some sort of high fashion aesthetic, made up, and looking very model chic. Richie was wearing fishnets underneath some _exceptionally_ ripped jeans, sky-high pumps, and an open plaid shirt. His legs were flung up over Lettie’s lap and his head was tilted back over Jesse’s shoulder. One of Jesse’s hands was linked with Richie’s long fingers. They were all in heavy makeup and Richie’s kohl ringed eyes and red smirk enticed Eddie from the cover. “ONLY AT SEVEN,” the headline read. “Why ONLY REVOLUTIONS’ seventh album is their most anticipated challenge to the form- and why their best is still yet to come.” 

Eddie flipped to the cover story and there was another picture of the band, all standing this time. Richie’s legs looked killer and his grin looked wicked in the same outfit from the front cover. The next page featured some sweeter, more candid shots; Lettie and Charlotte sharing a milkshake, Jesse and Annie at their baby shower, the whole band in a dogpile in a behind the scenes of the photo-shoot. There was a picture of Eddie and Richie from last year’s Grammy Awards; Eddie was slung up in Richie’s arms, laughing, his eyes closed and his nose wrinkled. Richie’s face was buried in his neck and his hand, held high above Eddie’s head, clutched one of the band’s four awards from that night in a powerful, triumphant fist. _Richie Tozier holds up one quarter of the band’s take from this years Grammy’s in one hand and his longtime partner Eddie Kaspbrak, 41, in the other,_ the caption underneath the photo read. Eddie grinned at it, gliding a thumb over the page. 

“I love this,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He cleared his throat and blinked up at Annie. “Thank you so much.”

“Ahh,” Annie waved her hand. “No big deal. I know that you have everything that’s ever so much as printed his name, I figured you’d want this too.”

“Of course,” Eddie was still grinning at the magazine like a dope. “Look how good they all look, Jesus.”

“I know, I love the little family photos section. Look here,” she leaned over and pointed to another one of the candids that covered the page in a collage; it was Richie, Lettie, and Eddie stacked in a horrible piggyback ride with Lettie on the bottom, Richie in the middle, and Eddie on top. Lettie looked put upon, Eddie looked terrified, and Richie looked _elated_. The picture had to be eleven, twelve years old. 

“How’d they get these?”

“The band supplied ‘em. Look at me there,” she moved her finger to a picture of her, Eddie, and Charlie all crowded into a pile on an armchair, looking bored and tired. Eddie remembered it vividly; they’d been waiting for all of their SOs to come off of the stage and leave, and they’d been there for _hours_ after that particular show. It had been their first international tour. “I was so small.” 

“You still look small, Ann,” Eddie said softly. “You’re beautiful.”

“I feel as big as your fucking house,” Annie said, but there was a deep gratitude in her eyes. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Eddie.” She wasn’t wrong. Even looking down the barrel of forty-two, Eddie knew he looked more like thirty-five. Regular yoga with Richie (combined with kick-boxing, walking all over campus, swimming, vegetarianism and a very strict skincare routine) had kept him looking trim and exceptionally youthful. He was in the best shape of his life and almost mind-bogglingly healthy. “Seriously, sooner rather than later people are going to start thinking that I’m _your_ mother.” 

“That’s not true. And don’t say that around Richie,” Eddie warned. “Unless you want to be called Mommy for the rest of your natural life.”

Annie gave Eddie a flat look. “I mean.” She swept a hand over her stomach and Eddie grimaced, nodding.

“Point taken. He’ll get weird with it, though, I’m just saying.” Eddie held up his hands. “Water?”

“I can get it,” Annie smiled. “Give me at least one more month before you put me out to pasture, please.” She crossed to the sink and busied herself there. “You ever think about having kids, Eddie?”

“With Rich?”

Even though her back was turned, Annie’s eye roll was evident in her voice. “No, with President Obama.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie said absently. He was re-absorbed in the magazine. There was one picture in particular that pulled at his heartstrings; Richie with a guitar in his hands, singing at the edge of a cramped stage, his arms looking far, far too thin. It was a very old photo. “Of course,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. We talk about it, sometimes.” 

“And?” Annie sipped her water and made her way back over to the counter. “You’re both settled. You make stellar money. My daughter’s gonna need a friend, Eddie.”

“It just…” Eddie hesitated. “It doesn’t feel right just now. Who knows. Maybe in a year or two, I don’t fucking know. We definitely want to, though. Someday.” 

“It _is_ easier to conceive when you aren’t stressed, so waiting until after the election is probably for the best--“

“Annie.”

“I’m just saying,” Annie laughed and squeezed Eddie’s knee. “It’s easier when you’re younger.”

“It’s not like either one of us is carrying the baby.”

“You just don’t want to be seventy when they graduate high school, that’s all I’m getting at,” Annie grinned, her eyes sparkling. “And I’m sure if you could get each other pregnant you’d have twelve kids by now. It’s not like--“

“Shut uuuuup--“

“--listen, you think we don’t hear you guys when you come on tour with us, Eddie, but we do! Hotel walls are _thin_ \--“

“Stop!”

“ _Oh, Richie_!” Annie wailed, grabbing the edge of the table. Her impression of Eddie was high pitched and breathless. “ _Harder, Rich, harder! Fuck me faster, Richie!_ ”

“I am not above kicking a pregnant woman out of my home, Annie, I swear to god!”

“Don’t think we don’t know what it’s all about,” Annie teased. “Just picture it, the face that you, Doctor Edward Kaspbrak, make when you’re looking to get down, okay, I know it by heart; you suck in your bottom lip, you look up at him and get real close, and we’ve _all_ heard you call him ‘Chee--“ 

“Alright, wow,” Eddie clapped his hands. He’d gone beet red all over his face and neck. “Is it time for you to check into the hospital already while the rest of us go to dinner--“ He was cut off by the beeping of their security alarm as the door opened. He heard Richie and Jesse laughing, and the telltale thump that meant that Richie had kicked his shoes off into the front wall. 

“Eddie?” 

“We’re in the kitchen, Rich!” Annie sang. “And Eddie looks like he could use a little TLC--“

“Where’s the portal that you crawled up from hell through, you demon bitch?” Eddie hissed.

“Need some ice for your face?” Annie asked coyly, and Eddie glared at her. 

“Shut up,” he snapped again. He wrapped an arm around Annie’s shoulders nonetheless, enjoying the height that his seated position on the counter gave him. “I’ll steal your baby, raise it as my baby, and she’ll never know--“

“Yeah, likely,” Annie booped Eddie on the nose. “Because you and Richie could totally produce a blonde.” Eddie smirked and grabbed a strand of his short hair. “A blonde that doesn’t require more lemon juice than a good iced tea, Eddie.”

“Oooh, should Jesse and I be getting jealous?” Richie sang. He practically leapt into the kitchen, all energy and long, strong limbs. He wrapped his arms around Annie from behind and stole her away from Eddie, kissing her cheek. She giggled as he dropped to his knees and looked up at her feverishly. “How’s my baby?” He asked, rubbing his cheek against her belly. “You tell Jesse it’s mine yet? That one weekend was just so _passionate_ , Annie, I still think about it all of the time.”

“As if you’d know what to do with a woman when you got there,” Jesse shouted from the living room. “Hi Eddie!”

“Hi!” Eddie yelled back. 

“You’ll believe me when it comes out with a full head of black hair and blind as a bat!” Richie shouted. He looked back up at Annie, his thousand watt smile turned all of the way up. “And it can be our little secret that I only got it up because you let me call you Eddie Spaghetti--“

“RICHARD.”

“You know,” Richie whispered conspiratorially, continuing as if he hadn’t heard Eddie at all. “I _have_ had sex with exactly one woman. It was in high school, before Eddie and I started dating. Apparently I was very good.” 

“And she was good enough to turn you off of women forever,” Eddie said. Richie grinned at him and stood up, letting Eddie pull him against him on the countertop with his legs. 

“Maybe you were good enough to turn me onto you forever,” Richie murmured. He went to run his hand through Eddie’s hair and Eddie grimaced, dodging. 

“Don’t,” he said. “I don’t want to get messed up before dinner.”

Richie’s eyes raked over Eddie and Eddie felt his neck going warm again. “You look perfect,” he said simply, and yep, just like that, Eddie’s face was on fire. 

“Is this man bothering you?” Jesse boomed. He was shaking his long blonde hair out of a ponytail. He walked over to Annie and cupped her face. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m fine,” Annie smiled. Jesse kissed her softly.

“Do you think that you got enough iron and vitamin K from the smoothie that I made you this morning--“

“Honestly,” Richie groaned. “If I have to listen to you talk about that smoothie one more time, dude--“

“Yes,” Annie smiled. Her head looked tiny in Jesse’s huge hands. “I’m great. Excited for dinner.”

“I still don’t know where we’re going,” Eddie insisted. He wiggled a little when Richie slid his hands lower on his back and pulled him in tighter. With Eddie perched on the counter top, they were almost exactly eye-to-eye. “So I didn’t really know how to dress.” He had settled on khakis and a light green button down shirt underneath an argyle sweater vest that matched his loafers. His hair was freshly cut and parted off to one side. His silver wristwatch belayed his small hands and his tortoiseshell glasses emphasized his large eyes. “I kind of feel like I’m dressed to go teach a conference.” 

“Yeah baby, talk dirty to me,” Richie groaned, and Eddie laughed, sliding his arms around his partner’s broad shoulders. “You keep talking about teaching, and next, well; you know what really does it for me, what I really want to hear?” 

“Yeah?”

Richie leaned in close, nipping at the little gold hoop in Eddie’s earlobe. “Fiscal responsibilities,” he moaned. “Oh god; having somebody come in to do the landscaping for us, I’m sick of mowing the lawn. _Fuck_ , baby, I want to have the downstairs bathroom redone.” 

Eddie was hysterical with laughter, quaking in Richie’s arms. “Stop, Richie,” he broke off giggling again when Richie made a weird purring sound against his neck. “You really want to re-do the bathroom?”

“Yeah, been thinking about it.” Richie snuggled his face into Eddie’s neck. “Like a blue, maybe? Fake wood tiles and a waterfall shower. How ‘bout that?”

“Nobody even uses that bathroom but guests, Richie.”

“Well, we have lots of guests and unlike you, I care about them and their bathroom needs. Plus Eds, come on, it’s a fun project--“

“The house is perfect,” Eddie said firmly. “And your HGTV privileges have been revoked as of this instant.”

Jesse nodded mournfully. “I’ve been there, man. Fucking sucks.”

“Do we have to sneak out together and watch House Hunters now?” Richie sighed. “Because I’ll do it, Eddie, I’ll run away from home.” 

“Suffer,” Eddie said simply. Richie laughed and yanked him close in a hug.

“Speaking of your paltry guest bathrooms, you should go change,” Annie gave Jesse a meaningful look.

“Ah,” Jesse said. “Right. Your bathroom upstairs, Rich?”

“Yeah,” Richie said smoothly. Eddie gave him a weird look. “Annie, why don’t you go and give the guy some company?”

Annie smirked at Richie. “Come on, handsome,” she grabbed Jesse’s hand and led him out of the kitchen, but not before Eddie caught her mouthing something to Richie: _You owe me, Tozier_.

He turned back to Richie, confused. “What was all that?”

“Not a thing, lovebug,” Richie said. “Nothing to worry your gorgeous head, sweet face, or scrumptious body over.” 

“Okay, well; you know I was serious about HGTV, right?”

“Eddie, no! Don’t do me dirty like this,” Richie whined. Laughing, Eddie cupped his face and kissed him. 

“If you don’t change for dinner I won’t do you at all,” Eddie tilted his head and let Richie’s responding kiss land on his cheek. 

“So cruel!”

“Just hungry--“

“Ooh, hopefully for me,” Richie trilled. He ran his hands up Eddie’s sides. Through two layers Eddie felt his thumb brush over a nipple and he shivered. “Because I’ll be thinking of desert all through dinner.”

“You’re acting like a horny teenager, Richie,” Eddie said. Richie smiled coyly. “You’re feeling some kinda way today, huh?”

“I’m having a big mood,” Richie smiled. “Our anniversary is next week, twenty-two fucking years, and you look so handsome--“

“Next month, you’re fifteen years sober, too--“

“Lots to celebrate,” Richie said softly. “Lots to look forward to--“

“I’m still looking forward to you getting ready to go, babe, I’m starving,” Eddie smiled, and Richie laughed.

“Alright, alright,” he stood back, grinning. “Point taken.” He turned to walk away, and Eddie found his eyes absolutely glued to Richie’s hands, his thumbs tucked into his belt loops, and the cocky sway of his hips, his long legs in his skinny jeans--

“Hey,” Eddie squeaked out. Richie turned around, his brows raised. “Um,” he hopped off of the counter and busied himself with the art of adjusting his watch. “You…are you going to wear underwear to dinner?”

Richie smirked and turned around, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “I mean I was, why? You have a preference?”

“Yes,” Eddie breathed out. “Um. Because you know…I’m not. Wearing any, I mean.” Richie’s jaw went slack and his nostrils flared. He schooled his face back into a relatively placid smirk, but the tips of his ears had gone bright pink. His eyes trailed over Eddie’s body one more time and Eddie moved from his watch to his glasses, smiling. 

“So sexy, Eds,” Richie cooed. “What brought this all on?”

“Rolling Stones came out today.”

“Ahh.”

“I dunno,” Eddie bit his bottom lip a little, smiling. “Made me think of you. Of how much I love you.”

Richie’s smirk softened. He pressed his head against the wall. “Love you too, sugar,” he said. Then he aimed a finger gun at Eddie and winked. “I’m gonna hit that ass like a drum later, baby, you better believe it.” He sauntered off and Eddie laughed. 

“Ahh, god,” he was still chuckling when he took off his glasses. He splashed his face with cold water from the sink, opened the fridge, and put his head inside, willing himself to simmer the fuck down. 

* * *

Eddie was practically bouncing in his chair. Hearth and Harbor was his absolute _favorite_ restaurant, and judging by the way that Richie was looking at him, all indulgent and soft, that had been the exact reason why it was chosen. Eddie and Annie were the only two vegetarians in their group of six, and they usually had to compromise and settle for pasta or salad; this was a place with _options_.

They slid into their table. Eddie sat himself beside Richie and took a minute to admire his lover. Unlike Eddie, who looked a little young for his age, Richie looked _exactly_ forty. His hair, close cropped in the back and sides and long and wavy at the top, was shot through with grey streaks and when the whim struck him to grow a beard, it was pretty salt-and-pepper. The corners of his warm brown eyes were creased with the accumulation of four decades of laughter. Eddie loved the way that Richie was aging; he loved his raspy voice and his body, softening slightly at his hips and his thighs, his ever-pronounced cheekbones and his smart, sharp smile. Richie still did yoga with Eddie four or five times a week, but he was aging a little faster, and aging gracefully, staying stunningly handsome the whole while.

He leaned his head on Richie’s shoulder and Richie looked down at him with a smile. They kissed, and he kissed Eddie’s forehead right after.

“You’re gonna get it so good for bringing me here,” Eddie whispered, almost inaudibly, and Richie’s expression turned sinful. 

“Don’t talk like that, Eds,” he smirked, his own voice soft and even. “This is a family table, you scoundrel.” 

“Mmm, just saying.” Eddie opened his menu, and he and Richie read from it together. The waiter came around with a bottle of wine; Richie and Annie refused their shares, and Jesse, Lettie, Charlie and Eddie split it. They toasted each other and drank and it was warm and family-friendly between the six of them. Eddie’s heart felt full, and he took a moment to savor the stability of his friends. 

“Doctor Kaspbrak?” 

“Mm?” Eddie wiped his mouth and turned. One of his students was standing at the edge of the table, smiling nervously. He searched his brain and was quickly rewarded with a name for her face; Alicia Myers; bright, sweet, and very productive in class discussions. “Alicia, hi,” he held out his hand and she shook it, smiling at him. “Sorry, you caught me with my mouth full.”

“No, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting your dinner, I-I just wanted to say that the seminar you suggested- Brandon and I went today and it was literally awe inspiring. So, thank you. It was amazing.”

“Aw, no problem,” Eddie smiled. He gestured at the table. “Let me mind my manners, um,” He pointed to everybody as he rattled off their names. “Lettie, Charlotte, Annie, Jesse, and my boyfriend, Richie. This is one of my students, Alicia.” 

Alicia had a bemused sort of grin on her face; Eddie recognized it, of course. When you were a college professor and dating somebody as famous as Richie Tozier, and you sat at a candle-lit table with his band, _and_ you looked exactly like you belonged there, it was a staggering juxtaposition of worlds. “Hi,” she said faintly. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“So you’re here with Brandon?”

“O-on a date, yeah.”

“Ooooh,” Richie murmured, raising an eyebrow and sipping his water. “You need a little pre-date advice? Listen--“

“Don’t listen to him,” Eddie said sternly. Alicia laughed, flushed to the roots of her short black hair. 

“I know a lot about romance, Eddie!”

“Yeah, so you say--“

“I romanced you, didn’t I--“

“--and I mean, one of us really does the heavy lifting there--“

“--and you’ve never complained,” Richie gave a long suffering sigh. “Listen,” he rolled his eyes and quirked a grin at Alicia like they were gossiping girlfriends. “You write him one love song that goes double platinum and suddenly nothing impresses him anymore--“

“Really, _we_ ,” Jesse quipped, smirking. “We wrote you that love song, Eddie.”

Eddie grinned and leaned in. “Jesse, are you trying to steal me away from my man?”

“Lord, somebody, take him away from that man,” Lettie laughed. “The PDA is _obscene_ ,” she told Alicia, who no longer seemed to bear any nervousness in her. 

“Uncalled for,” Eddie scolded. He threw his napkin casually at Lettie who caught it, grinning, and tossed it back. Charlotte laughed and wrapped both arms around her wife’s neck, kissing her on the cheek.

“Doctor Kaspbrak just never struck us as the PDA type--“

“Listen to that child,” Lettie groaned. “That sweet, innocent child.”

“She knows nothing of the evils in this world,” Charlie agreed sagely, patting Lettie’s hand. 

“It’s not her fault, Char, she’s so young.”

“If it’s your first date--“ Richie started, loudly, and he was pelted with napkins from all across the table. He laughed and held up his hands in surrender. 

“If it’s your first date, have a wonderful one,” Annie chimed in from across the table. “That’s all.”

“Okay,” Alicia giggled. “Uhm, thank you, all, for your advice. It was nice to meet you all.”

“Same here,” Lettie said warmly. 

“See you in class, Doctor K.”

“Have a good night, Alicia.”

“Doctor K, oooh,” Richie smirked as Alicia walked away, humming a few bars of Hot For Teacher under his breath. Eddie laughed and punched Richie playfully on the shoulder.

“Shaddup,” he grinned. Richie leaned in and captured his lips in a little kiss. 

“Cute, cute, cute,” he murmured, smiling widely. He was so close that Eddie could see the flecks of amber and gold in his gaze; Richie had gotten Lasik surgery on his eyes six years ago. He had reveled in it, and Eddie had celebrated with him. Privately, though, he missed Richie’s obnoxiously large glasses, just like he’d missed his crooked teeth when Richie had caved under his label’s pressure and suffered through two years of Invisalign and four years of nighttime retainers.

“Something on my face?” Richie said softly. He pressed his nose into Eddie’s. “A whole lotta handsome going on up there, or what?”

“Shaddup,” he repeated, and Richie kissed him again.


	2. Can't Remember To Forget You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for; brief suicidal thoughts, panic attacks, and EXPLICIT sexual content. This chapter is NSFW.

“Mmm,” Richie disarmed the alarm without looking at it when he and Eddie stumbled through their door. They were wrapped up in each other and attached at the lips, sucking and biting at each others’ mouths like their dinners had left them starving. “Fuck, baby,” he spun Eddie around and pressed him against the wall, and Eddie clutched his hair while Richie’s lips worked at the sensitive skin of his neck. His hands worked Eddie’s shirt and sweater out of his waistband and he reveled in the hot skin of his stomach and sides. 

“Rich,” Eddie panted out. He tried to grind his hips against Richie’s and whimpered when the other man moved his pelvis backwards and out of reach. “Goddammit, don’t tease.” 

“What, you wanna be the pot or the kettle?” Richie grinned. “C’mere,” He kicked off his shoes and hauled Eddie up, tossing him over one broad shoulder. 

“Ahh! Rich!” 

“C’mon,” Richie delivered a swift slap to Eddie’s ass and Eddie gasped, wiggling. “I have something for you- and it’s not the something you’d expect.”

“Wh- _ahh_! Richie, do NOT--“ but Richie was already doing it, laughing as he vaulted up their stairs two at a time while Eddie shrieked and clutched his back. “RICHIE! Don’t, I SWEAR TO _GOD_ \--“

“But I already did!” Richie kicked open the door to their bedroom. He spun Eddie around and- literally- threw him onto their bed. 

Eddie landed with a squeak, one hand grabbed around the arm of his glasses and one knotted in his sweater vest. He glared at Richie. “I hate that, Jesus, you’re going to drop me one day.”

“Never ever,” Richie cooed. He worked his shirt up over his head and tossed it behind him; Eddie tried to remember what he was supposed to be angry about, honestly, but _hot damn_. “Ooh, Eddie Spaghetti. You liking this?” Richie grinned, undoing his thick belt with one hand. 

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wow, you’re trying as hard as you can to kill the fucking mood in here.” 

Richie laughed. “Alright, get undressed.” 

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry? Is that a question or a command?”

“Please? I know it doesn’t sound sexy to just do it, but trust me.” Richie thought for a second, holding up one finger. “Ahh. Music. What music do you want?”

“What?” 

“I want to listen to something. You pick,” Richie was smiling, but his fingers were tapping over his waistband and Eddie watched him shuffle a little in place. He was nervous. “Something romantic.” 

Eddie squirmed a little on the bedspread- Richie’s nerves felt like they were catching. “Uhm. Something classic?” Richie nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He pressed on the screen and after a moment or two of silence, their room was flooded with the opening strings of _Guilty_ by Al Bowlly. “Ooh. Nice choice, Rich.” 

“Made you a new mix, so I was hoping you’d say classic romance. There’s some modern on there too, like, The XX and shit, but I know what my Eds likes.”

“’Jams To Fuck To: Volume Seventeen’?” Eddie joked, but Richie only smiled at him. 

“Stay here, okay?” And he turned around and disappeared into their en suite bathroom, turning the music up louder as he left. “Get undressed, though!”

Eddie blinked. He stripped down on the bed, confused enough to have lost his boner, but not so confused as to be worried or frightened. He divided his clothing up and set it into his two hampers, respectively, and took off his wristwatch. He was laying it out on his nightstand when he heard Richie. “Eds!” The other man yelled. “Come in here, please!”

Brows furrowed and totally naked, Eddie padded over to their bathroom. He opened the door and felt dizzy instantly, and full of emotion; there were candles and flowers everywhere. Richie was sitting in the bathtub, which was full up to his chest, with the biggest shit-eating grin that Eddie had ever seen. His mop of hair was pulled up in a bun. “Hey baby.”

“What…” Eddie blinked rapidly, looking around his bathroom like he’d never seen it before. “You did _not_ set this all up just now--“

“Jesse did it earlier when he was changing. You know, bros helping bros. Come on, honey, get in.” 

Eddie blushed and nodded, feeling speechless. He climbed into the bath, sighing when he felt Richie’s long hands glide up his legs to hold his hips. He settled into the taller man’s lap and felt himself relax instantly in the heat of the water and the sweet, honeyed scent of the room. 

“It was my idea,” Richie preened. “Not Jesse’s, though. Just so you know.” 

“It was your idea to run me a bubble bath with roses and candles…” Eddie said, feeling a little dumb. 

“To have Annie keep you in the kitchen and for Jesse to set up,” Richie hummed out, smiling. “To take you to your favorite restaurant and get you a little loose and hot under the collar.” 

“Are you dying?” Eddie asked bluntly, and Richie threw his head back and cackled. 

“No, no,” he chuckled, pulling Eddie flush against his chest. “At least, not that I know of.”

“Seriously, Rich, if you’re dying you have to tell me--“

“Eddie! Baby,” he ran his hands up Eddie’s back and Eddie melted into the touch, laying against Richie’s chest. “Not dying. Not going anywhere. Ever, actually, that’s kind of the point--“

“Then why all this?” Eddie mumbled, nuzzling his face against Richie’s neck. Richie hummed and tilted his head back, and Eddie kissed along the exposed skin. 

“I knew you’d like it. You’re such a romantic sap underneath that hard-ass exterior--“

“Oh, like you aren’t--“ 

“And you love to be wined and wooed and dined,” Richie tilted his head and bit Eddie’s earlobe gently. “And made love to,” he whispered, and Eddie let his eyes close with a soft sigh. 

“You’ll spoil me.” Elvis was crooning from their bedroom, now, and Eddie’s heart was so full. He opened his eyes and really took in their lavish bathroom. “Richie, this is really so beautiful. Thank you.”

“I _should_ spoil you,” Richie smiled. “Sometimes, not all of the time. I don’t want you to get a big head.”

“Alright, Tozier. You were the one in Forbes, not me.”

Richie’s smile widened. “I know,” he gushed. “Wasn’t it amazing?” He reached over the side of the tub, pulling Eddie tighter into his lap as he did so. “Ah, hang on, I need both hands.” He let go of Eddie and rummaged. There was a loud pop and Eddie jumped.

“Jesus--“ He flushed, embarrassed, when Richie laughed at him. 

“Champagne, moron,” Richie grinned. “Here.” He poured Eddie a glass and handed it over. There was a strawberry in it. 

“You…had this waiting here?”

“Yep! In a bucket of ice. No, no,” Richie cupped Eddie’s face when the shorter man tried to lean over and see. “No peeking.” He kissed Eddie and pressed the glass into his fingers. “Just enjoy.” 

Eddie took the stem of the glass in between two fingers and looked at it like it was poisoned. “Who the fuck are you?” He whispered. 

Richie laughed. “Just your average, everyday Richard Tozier.”

Eddie gave him a flat look. He swished the champagne and took a sip. It was good. Expensive. _Jesus_. “It’s lung cancer, isn’t it?” He asked flatly. “What d’you have, six months to live?”

“Why do you assume that when I try to make a big grand gesture it’s because I’m dying?”

“Because I’ve known you for over thirty years, and I’ve been with you for almost twenty-two, and this isn’t what you _do_.”

“Hmm,” Richie took the back of Eddie’s head in both hands and pressed their foreheads together. “Why not?”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

“Why isn’t it what I do?” He tilted his chin and captured Eddie’s lips in a searing kiss. Eddie gasped and curled his free hand against Richie’s shoulder while Richie gripped his hair firmly and kissed the living daylights out of him. When they parted, it took several seconds for Eddie to open his eyes, and even then he felt dazed. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Wh-what?”

“Twenty-two years for us, I’ve been sober for almost fifteen; we have a lot to celebrate.” One of Richie’s hands was still in Eddie’s hair, but his other was back over the side of the tub, digging for something. “I know our anniversary is soon. I didn’t want to wait--“

“What- Richie, what are you--“

“So, I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for our anniversary,” Richie continued, his forehead still pressed to Eddie’s. “That would have been poetic, I guess, but…I’m not,” he laughed softly.

“I don’t understand--“

“I want you to marry me.” Richie’s hand was back and Eddie was staring at it, eyes wide and jaw slack. There was a little box in it, a perfect square, and inside of that there was a silver band. It was beautiful, actually, engraved with filigree, maybe an antique, but Eddie couldn’t focus on any of that at the moment; his mind felt absolutely frozen. 

“ _What_ \--“

“Eddie, I love you,” Richie whispered. “I love you so fucking much, you’re my whole world. Will you marry me? Um,” he shot Eddie a cheeky smile. “Will you marry me, _please_?” Eddie snapped his mouth shut and nodded vigorously, his eyes filling up. “That’s a yes, huh?” Eddie nodded again, wiping the tears that he couldn’t stop. “Come on baby, say--“

“Yes,” Eddie said thickly. He set the champagne glass down outside of the bath and buried his face into his hands, and then his whole body against Richie’s chest. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, why are you even _proposing_ , you fucking _idiot_ \--“

“Shhh, it’s okay, you don’t have to protest too much.” Eddie looked up, sniffling. Richie thumbed away the tears with his free hand. His tone was even but his was absolutely radiant, beaming and flushed all over his face and neck. He took Eddie’s left hand and slid the ring onto his fourth finger, and Eddie felt fresh tears welling up. 

“It fits,” he whispered.

“I know,” Richie said. “It’s almost like I planned it or something.”

“Shut _up_ , oh my god,” Eddie wiped his face. He burst out laughing, suddenly; a flighty joy was building up in his chest, and he couldn’t contain it. “ _Richie_ , baby!” He laughed even harder when Richie bundled him up in a tight hug, his smiling face pressed into Eddie’s neck. 

“You can’t tell me to shut up,” Richie cooed. He pressed his nose against Eddie’s throat and Eddie dipped his head down to plant kisses along Richie’s jaw. “You’re gonna marry me; I’ll never take any criticism from you again!”

“I know, I’ve ruined my life,” Eddie said again, burying his grin against Richie’s neck. “Oh my god…Richie--“

“I know, baby boy,” Richie hugged Eddie tightly. “We can do it any time you want to,” he lifted Eddie off of his lap and settled him back against the opposite end of the bath, submerging him up to his shoulders. “Any way you want to, I don’t care, I’ll do anything- courthouse or we can make it big, I just want to marry you.”

“Mm,” Eddie guided Richie on top of him. He sighed, surrounded by his lover’s warm weight, and captured his parted lips in a tender kiss. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Richie nodded, his eyes soft. “Fucking finally, right?”

“Fucking finally,” Eddie agreed. “Can…can we get married in California? By the beach?”

“Sure.”

Eddie wiggled and Richie grinned. “I’m so excited, Rich,” he admitted, blushing. Richie ran a long hand up Eddie’s stomach, his fingers dancing over the firm muscle there. “I’m…” he beamed uncontrollably. “I’m going to be your _husband_.”

“I like the sound of that,” Richie said softly. “I’ll be your husband too, you know,” his lips brushed over Eddie’s. Eddie made a strained, soft sound and kissed him heatedly, his hands flying up to clutch at Richie’s hair. Richie yielded to him, tilting his head and sucking on Eddie’s bottom lip. “You like that?” he whispered, and Eddie nodded desperately. “Yeah?” He slid a hand up to tilt Eddie’s hips, rocking himself against the other man’s ass almost lazily. “You like it when I call myself your husband?”

“Yes, baby,” Eddie spread his legs a little, wrapping them around Richie’s waist. “I-I do, I like it.” 

Richie smirked at him. “Oooh, ‘baby’,” he whistled. Eddie gasped softly as the hand that Richie had on his front slid down in between his legs, his long fingers tracing the shape of Eddie’s growing erection. “How about…you get to pick this, okay?” 

“Wh-what?”

“I’ll let you pick because I love you, and because,” Richie interrupted himself to suck a kiss into the side of Eddie’s neck, just under his jaw. “I know it’ll mean everything to you.” 

“Richie, I don’t--“

“Here’s some good choices; we could be Tozier-Kaspbrak,” Eddie gasped, bucking his hips as Richie’s hand started working him up and down in slow, firm motions. “Or, I could be Rich Kaspbrak,” Richie kissed up Eddie’s neck and bit at his earlobe and Eddie whined. He reached down blindly and grabbed Richie’s hips, desperately trying to encourage the friction between them. “You like that one? How about Eddie Tozier?” 

Eddie arched his back with a gasp, seeing stars as Richie rubbed a thumb underneath the head of his prick. “Bed,” he forced out, sighing at the shape of the smile against his ear. “Bed, _please_ ; Richie, take me to bed.” 

“Mmn, how about if you ask for your husband to take you to bed, huh?” He spread Eddie’s legs and wedged himself further up between them, sucking just underneath Eddie’s ear. Eddie melted into the feel of him, the hard readiness of him, absolutely dizzy with it. “Because I could keep you here all night, you know I could.”

“I know, ah--“

“You’d love it, I think,” Richie was smiling at him now, and Eddie felt the heady sensation of a clear challenge bubbling in his chest. He quirked an eyebrow and Richie kissed the front of his throat, nipping lightly with his teeth, using his free hand to apply _just_ a little pressure to the side of Eddie’s neck. His other hand kept working Eddie with the grace and the ease that betrayed twenty plus years of practice. “You love being teased. You--“

“Please, ‘Chee,” Eddie begged, arching his body up to pressed sinuously against Richie’s, pulling the taller man in closer with his legs. Richie shuddered, and Eddie grinned at the harsh inhale against his throat.

“Mmm, unfair,” Richie said. His voice was theater soft and when Eddie looked down to meet his gaze, the fire in Richie’s eyes could have consumed them both. 

“I-I,” Eddie sucked in his bottom lip and lowered his eyelashes. “I want you to take me to our bed, treat me…treat me like your _husband_ , please, I want you inside of me so bad, Rich--“

“Say all of that again and I’ll do anything you want, anytime, for the rest of my life,” Richie said.

Eddie tugged Richie up and Richie went as directed. He was staring at Eddie, his nostrils flared and his face totally pink. “Earn it,” Eddie whispered, smiling, and in one blurry, fluid motion, Richie was out of the tub and Eddie was in his arms, laughing, while Richie carted him to their bed. 

“Oof,” he laughed again when Richie threw him onto the bed. The taller man climbed over him, grinning, and cut off whatever remark that was forming in his mouth with a deep, heated kiss. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, Eddie,” Richie grabbed Eddie around the waist and flipped their positions over, landing underneath the other man. Eddie felt them bounce onto the mattress and giggled into Richie’s mouth. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he sat up and looked down at Richie- _his fiancé, Jesus Christ_. He reached in front of himself and took Richie into both hands, smiling when Richie groaned and arched up into him. “I feel like I know _exactly_ what I do to you.”

“Eddie, baby--“

“And do you know what it does to me?” Eddie asked softly. He slid down farther in between Richie’s tattooed thighs, using one palm to steady himself, the other still ghosting along the length of his lover’s cock. “When you get like this because of me?” He pulled the head of Richie’s dick into his mouth, swirling his tongue and bobbing his head. He hummed when Richie moaned, loud and brazen, and gasped out a choked little sound when one of Richie’s hands fisted into his hair. He looked up at his partner from underneath his lashes; Richie was staring at him with half lidded, hungry eyes. 

“Eddie, lover, get up here,” Richie said. Eddie pulled off with a wet _pop_ and moved up Richie’s hips and stomach. “No,” Richie said. He licked his lips. “Turn around.” 

Eddie nodded, flushing with anticipation; he turned around and gasped when Richie grabbed his hips and yanked him backwards, letting out a weird little grunt when he fell over Richie’s stomach. “Richie, I-- _ahhn_ ,” he felt the words melt right out of his mind and Richie spread him and licked a long, hot line up the middle of him. “Oh, god,” he whimpered, arching his back and spreading his legs while Richie ate him out. “Richie, _Richie_ \--“

Richie responded with a low, humming sound that made Eddie whine and bury his heated face in the other man’s hip. He didn’t waste any time devouring Eddie; he was noisy and wet and his technique (which Eddie shamelessly loved) was a “more is more” approach. He pressed his tongue inside of the smaller man and Eddie jerked his ass up, rocking his hips back insistently. The barbell in Richie's tongue scraped him deliciously, first outside and then in, and Eddie felt like liquid underneath the man's ministrations. He whimpered and inched forward, sucking the tip of Richie’s dick back into his mouth. He was a little too short to do his best work, but he was immediately gratified when Richie bucked his hips and let out a muffled groan. 

“Baby, fuck,” Richie broke away to gasp. He ran one digit over Eddie’s rim, and Eddie felt himself twitch and open under the pressure. He whimpered while Richie teased him with a long, dry finger. “God, your mouth is like a piece of heaven. You’re so fucking good, Eds.” 

Eddie wiggled forward and took Richie deeper in between his lips, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head. He moaned when he felt one of Richie’s hands clutch at his hair and guide him up and down. He let himself be steered for awhile, let Richie rock his hips up into his mouth while he fingered him until the taller man pulled him off and backwards with a grunt and a slick, filthy sound. 

He turned to look over his shoulder at Richie; the man was staring at him, one finger still working him over, the other hand fisted tightly in his hair. “I want you inside of me,” Eddie said, and his voice came out low and aching and needy. 

Richie let his eyes close and pulled his finger out, earning almost silent sound of protest. He let go of Eddie’s hair and yanked the man back even farther and god, normally Eddie only got to sit on Richie’s face like this on holidays or special occasions, but as he rocked his hips back against Richie’s undeniably talented mouth, he realized that this was a pretty special occasion, wasn’t it? 

Richie’s hands were working against Eddie’s thighs, lifting and settling him, stroking and rubbing, and Eddie felt a very familiar heat coiling at the base of his pelvis, could feel himself tightening and his toes curling when Richie grabbed his cock at last, and he knew he wouldn’t last. 

“Richie, honey, oh _god_ ,” Eddie whined, high and breathy, and he felt Richie laugh underneath him. He smiled when Richie lifted him and settled him down onto their bed. He watched the taller man wipe his chin and smile and grab lube from their nightstand and _fuck_. “You’re so fucking hot,” he blurted out, and then he covered his face and groaned. 

Richie laughed again. “I’m on the verge of suffocating in your ass and calling me fucking hot is what embarrasses you? You’re a mystery, Kaspbrak.” He slicked up his fingers and climbed on top of Eddie, leaving hot, deep kisses along any patch of skin he went by; one hickey just below his bellybutton made Eddie whimper, and one on his collarbone made him cry out, his body bowing up against Richie’s, his hands clutching at the other man’s shoulders. 

“Not- _hnn_ \- not Kasbrak for long,” he whispered. 

Richie laughed gently, and Eddie felt the slick coolness of his teasing fingers pressed against his asshole. “Think of what it’s gonna be like on our wedding night,” he whispered, and Eddie keened when he pressed both fingers into him at once. “Yeah? I’ll be thinking of this the whole time you know. The night you said yes to me, the night you agreed to be my husband, fuck, baby,” he scissored his fingers and held Eddie’s waist with his free hand. 

“R-Richie,” Eddie ran both of his hands up into Richie’s hair with both hands. “While- yes, _please_ , deeper--“

Richie obliged. “While we’re at the altar?” Eddie nodded. He was panting and his eyes were mostly closed; they slid all of the way shut with a shaky moan when Richie pressed a third finger into him. “Fuck yeah, where else? At our first dance and when I carry you over the threshold…when I fuck you as my husband for the very first time,” Eddie was a whimpering mess. “Just fucking imagine,” he pulled his fingers out and made quick work of slicking his dick, panting. He bent back over Eddie and the smaller man wrapped his limbs all around Richie while he lined up. “When we say I do, Jesus, _fuck_ ,” he swore, bundling Eddie up against his chest while he pushed into him. Eddie shouted, throwing his head back. “Don’t, no, Eddie- look at me.”

“What?”

“Look at me,” and Eddie did, feeling breathless. Richie pressed his lips to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, rocking into him slowly. “Look at me,” he repeated, pressing their foreheads together. “I _love_ you, baby, I love you so much that I’m gonna marry you.” 

“ _Richie_ \--” Eddie panted, and cut himself off with a choked gasp, chasing after the sparks of pleasure that danced over his vision. He threaded his fingers in Richie’s hair, whimpering and whining on every thrust, feeling Richie go deeper and harder in every instant. “I love you too, I love you more th-than _anything_ -” Richie caught his lips, snapping his hips down into Eddie and he screamed out, then, clutching the black strands in between his fingers tightly. 

Richie trailed a series of searing kisses down Eddie’s throat, and the pressure of his firm attentions on Eddie’s neck made the smaller man feel _hot_ and _dizzy_ and so, so _close_ \--

Richie’s teeth were pressed against Eddie’s collarbone and he bit down, careful but still rough, sucking on the skin underneath his lips. His hand wrapped around Eddie’s dick and he was gone in one pump, wailing out through his climax, his body spasming, clutching Richie’s head against him with trembling fingers. 

“C-come for me, Riche, please, please--“ And, honestly, Richie probably didn’t need to be asked, but it certainly didn’t hurt to beg; Eddie felt the reverberation of the larger man’s groan. “Yeah?” He panted, and he cried out when Richie slammed against his prostate because Jesus _fucking_ Christ. “Richie, R-Richie, please, I need it, I need _you_ \--”

“Good _god_ , fuck, Eddie, the mouth on you,” Richie grunted. He straightened up and settled on his knees, yanked Eddie back against him, and fucked him mercilessly. Eddie wailed out with each thrust, his cock twitching, his insides churning. Richie was moaning too, his voice getting higher and higher, his gaze fixed on Eddie beneath him, his eyes hot and dark, and _there_ \--

Richie slammed home one final time and let out a shaky, drawn out moan that sounded like it was ripped straight out of his vocal cords. Eddie arched his back when he felt him come, letting out his own low, needy sounds. “Fuck,” Richie panted. He stayed still for a moment, catching his breath and ran the palms of his hands over Eddie’s calves and up his thighs, back down, and up again. “Eddie.”

“ _Rich_ ,” Eddie panted, the back of his hand over his mouth. He smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Richie murmured. “Now or later?”

“Later, give…mn,” Eddie wiggled and both of them groaned at the sensation. “Give me another minute, please, I _love_ this.” 

Richie grinned at him. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he huffed, and didn’t pull out, as requested. He laid himself gently against Eddie, sighing happily when the smaller man peppered his face in kisses. “You’re always so sweet after a good, hard fuck.”

“You’re crass.”

“You’re beautiful,” Richie said, kissing just below Eddie’s ear. “You’re fucking perfect, and you astonish me daily with your sweet face and your rocking body and your big brains and your boundless heart.”

Eddie flushed. He felt Richie take off his glasses and set them aside, and he blinked against the faint blur of his vision. “…You’re still crass.”

Richie laughed, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck. “God, you’ll make me hard again.” 

“I won’t be mad at that, but you and I both know that you aren’t twenty anymore,” Eddie said, and Richie huffed out another laugh into Eddie’s throat. 

“Mm, don’t challenge me,” he rolled his hips and Eddie mewled, scratching Richie’s back lightly. “Ahh, you little sexy fucker. You’re trying to get me worked up again.” 

“It’s not that hard,” Eddie grinned, wiggling his hips. 

“Don’t be so rude,” Richie quipped. Eddie laughed. “Look at you, all fucked out, getting those chucks. This should be the background of my phone- can you reach for it?”

“Are you serious? Oh my god,” Eddie smiled coyly. “No! No mid coitus photos. You KNOW my rule.”

“I thought we were finished-coitus. Are we mid-coitus?” Richie smirked. “I’ll pull out and get my phone.”

“Mmm,” Eddie’s smile widened and he closed his eyes. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

“I so will.”

“Then do it, Rich. I’ll call your bluff. Pull out.”

Richie laughed softly. “It’s like you know me or something, huh.” He rested his forearms on either side of Eddie’s head and kissed him languidly. 

“Something like that,” Eddie sighed and rolled his hips. Richie’s eyes fluttered shut with a low moan, and he started thrusting again, shallowly. “I know it won’t be that intense, but I want you again, Richie.” 

“It’s gonna take me, like, a half an hour to get it up enough,” the words were delivered in a warning tone, but Richie was absolutely _beaming_. “I do so love keeping my Eddie Spaghetti satisfied. I love how much you want me, all of the time.”

“I always want you, Rich,” Eddie moaned out softly. He felt thoroughly fucked and wanton and so fucking greedy, to still crave every inch of Richie. “Even when you fucking call me that. You’re the only one who…You’re my…”

“I know,” Richie said softly. He kissed the corner of Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie knew that he didn’t need to finish his sentence. “You’re mine, too.”

* * *

Richie was still sleeping when Eddie woke up the next morning, face down and completely unconscious; a total rarity for their days off. _I exhausted him_ , Eddie thought, smiling, and rubbed a hand over his lover’s spine. Richie shifted his shoulders and rolled onto his side, grumbling, and Eddie sucked in his bottom lip, tracing over the extensive tattoo between Richie’s broad shoulders. He remembered the day he’d got it--

_“It’s so violent,” Eddie said with a frown._

_“You hate it!”_

_“No, Rich. I don’t hate it, per se.“_

_“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Richie was undeterred, smiling. “You hate them all at first.”_

_“Untrue. I love the pride flag.” Richie hummed, holding up his left arm, and Eddie felt his heart soften, as it always did, when he looked at the beautiful rainbow flag tattoo that was swathed around his lover’s forearm. “I always have.”_

_“You always have,” Richie agreed. “This freak out is nothing compared to how you reacted when I got your signature--“_

_“--which you later agreed with me, was stupid,” Eddie said. He’d been hiding for years how much he loved that one, too; admitting that seeing his name, in his own handwriting, scrawled on Richie’s chest, right beside the anchor over his heart, was NOT worth losing years of won arguments; sorry. “It’s a jinx--“_

_“--and it’s not really good, I know, I got it on the cheap--_

_“--but this one’s so big, Richie.”_

_“I have almost two full sleeves, c’mon. It’s cool.” He flexed his sore shoulders with a little wince; the piece was huge, spanning from shoulder to shoulder and halfway down his back. It was traditionally done, an eagle with the body of a huge snake in his claws and its decapitated head in his beak. “And it has meaning! The snake, right? It’s heroin.”_

_Eddie stopped and blinked. “Oh,” he said softly. He ran his hands over Richie’s biceps. There were tattoos of roses and lilies and wildflowers above the pride flag on his left arm. The work there looked like a painting, all of those amazing flowers tucked into the curve of his pride flag. It was realistic, soft, beautiful and vibrant; god, Richie really was a work of art._

_“Well, it’s heroin and cocaine, really, booze too. Or at least,” Richie shrugged. “what those things do to me. Addiction, y’know.”_

_“So, the eagle is you?” Eddie asked. Richie shifted around to face him. “Or- your sobriety?”_

_“No, dipshit,” Richie chuckled. He kissed Eddie’s forehead. “The eagle is you.”_

\--and he’d grown to love it in the years since then. He pressed a kiss in between Richie’s shoulder blades, and yelped when Richie rolled over onto him. “Rich!”

“Mm, what, sorry? Still dreaming,” Richie yawned and stretched. Eddie giggled, shoving at the taller man. 

“Get off, you lump.”

“I did last night, thanks,” Richie wiggled his eyebrows. He rolled over and hugged Eddie tightly, burying his face into his hair. “Twice. Not that I’m complaining, but I’m gonna need, like twenty four hours.”

“Richie--“

“Maybe only twelve hours if you eat a banana for breakfast and do yoga in your underwear at home, oooh,” he shivered, grinning. “Do downward dog for me, baby. I’ll help you with your form.” 

“I do NOT need help with my form. I was going to suggest the farmers market, actually.”

“That’s sexy too!”

“And catch up on Game of Thrones?”

“Even sexier!” Richie shouted, and Eddie laughed. 

“You think everything is sexy, Rich,” Eddie reached for his glasses. His heart hammered into high gear when the light glinted off of his engagement band. He beamed, slamming his glasses onto his face, and admired his ring in the morning light for the first time. “Oh…it’s amazing, Richie. I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Everything about it,” Eddie sat up and groaned. 

“You sore?” Richie asked. He ran a careful, soft hand over Eddie’s lower back and then he was up right away, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist from behind. “I can get the heating pad and bring you your OJ.”

“No, ‘Chee,” Eddie smiled. He felt light, like his chest was full of butterflies and sunshine. “I’m just getting old.” 

“You get better every year.”

“Better at hiding it every year.” 

“I’m calling bullshit. You just want to hear me tell you how handsome you are,” Richie cooed, pulling Eddie onto his lap. The long hair on the upper sides and top of his head was batshit wild- curly and wavy and sticking in every direction. 

“It doesn’t hurt my feelings,” Eddie grinned. He poked Richie’s nose and melted up into him in a long, slow kiss. “Mm. Shower? Then an omelet?” 

“Want me to cook?”

“What, you wanna die before we hit the altar?” 

Richie laughed. “Keep talking ‘bout out wedding,” he said. “I like it!”

“In the shower, okay? My legs are practically glued together,” Eddie grimaced. He slid out of Richie’s lap, wobbly, his legs feeling coltish on the firmness of their bedroom floor. He smiled at Richie, bashful and flushed. “Maybe, before the farmer’s market…We could stop somewhere?”

“Anywhere, honey.”

“I want to get you a ring too,” Eddie twirled the band around his finger. “It’s not fair that only I should have one, so I want to buy you one too- today, if we find one. You can pick it, I’ll never come up with anything this good, as good as mine is, Richie, I love it _so_ much--“

Richie was standing in the blink of an eye, and Eddie was crushed to his chest in a hug. Eddie returned the gesture, arching up into his fiancé. They stood there for a long time in the beaming morning sunlight, listening to the birds chirping outside, smiles plastered on both of their faces. 

Richie’s phone rang then, and Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes. “Shakira? Really?”

“Awh,” Richie nuzzled his face into Eddie’s hair. “Baby, you know my hips don’t lie.”

“You gonna get it, or do I have to listen to this whole song?”

“Nah,” Richie swung Eddie up into his arms while the smaller man laughed, throwing his glasses back onto the bed. “I’ll let it ring. I have a sexy shower to get to.”

* * *

The phone was ringing again when they got home from their day, vaguely audible from where it had been left on their bed. Richie had left it behind, a decision that was so out of character that Eddie almost checked his temperature; Richie was absolutely addicted to social media and was obsessive over his instagram, facebook, and twitter accounts. “I’ll post about our engagement,” he had admitted when Eddie questioned him about leaving his phone. “And, uh, I want to tell the people in our lives first. The band all knows, obviously, they helped stage it, but your coworkers…your mom. My mom. We deserve the right to tell them ourselves. Imagine if good ol’ Sonia K finds out from a friend of a friend who goes to church with her who follows me on Insta.”

Eddie grimaced. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Richie nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “You think she’ll be jealous- OW, Eds!”

“No,” Eddie said firmly. “Just NO. Think about what you’re saying, and stop before you say it.”

“Also, a concept; we can just not invite my mother,” Richie said, brightly. Eddie cut him off with a look, the edges of which were softened by the gentle way that he played with Richie’s hair. 

“Whatever you want, ‘Chee,” he said. “But think about it, first.”

They went to a jewelry store and bought Richie a ring, the third one he looked at. He looked at Eddie when the clerk brought it out, beaming, and Eddie had bought it on the spot, feeling dopey and young and so in love. It was bulkier than Eddie’s, silver and while gold, and styled like a men’s class ring. There was a substantial sapphire in the middle, and the color of it caught on the warm tones of Richie, from the freckles on the back of his hands to his warm eyes and his pink lips, and it made Eddie’s blood sing. 

They left the jeweler’s with their hands clutched tight, swinging between them, Richie singing to himself while they went. He picked everything up at the farmers’ market with exaggerated sweeps of his left hand, laughing and spinning and kissing Eddie over and over again. Eddie soaked it in like sunshine, his hands cupped over Richie’s cheeks, and he pressed his smile bashfully into Richie’s collarbone when they passed any and all acquaintances. 

That afternoon, they barely made it into their house without spilling their groceries; Richie had a hand under Eddie’s t-shirt and his lips under his jaw as soon as they hit their front porch. “You’re irresistible,” he murmured, and Eddie flushed, hot with his attentions. 

“Get inside, you fucking goon,” he snapped, wiggling away. “If the constant crew of paparazzi that follows you gets a picture of you feeling me up on our front porch, I’ll literally die of embarrassment.” 

Richie laughed, belly deep and sweet. “They haven’t found our house yet, baby.”

“I know. That’s why I insisted on the long driveway.” Eddie walked his bags into the kitchen, shooting a halfhearted glare at Richie when he just flopped his parcels out onto the counter. “No help?”

“I just wanna look at my ring,” Richie beamed. He fanned out his left hand on the counter top. Eddie smiled, and set his hand beside his fiance’s. They had a skylight in their kitchen, and the sunlight that poured in glinted off of their mismatched pieces. “Fucking perfect.”

“Blue’s so good on you,” Eddie said, and Richie was vaulting over the counter and kissing him like his life depended on it. “Ahh-!!”

“Know what’s good on you?” Richie set his lips against Eddie’s jaw and hauled him up onto the counter.

“You putting groceries away,” Eddie shoved at Richie’s shoulders, flustered. “That’s a good look on EVERYBODY in this kitchen.”

“Me bent over this counter while you fuck me is a better look,” Richie purred, and Eddie went _red_. It wasn’t everyday he heard that; they switched off every now and then, of course, and it was always an experience. And, yeah, after last night, Eddie _was_ a little sore… “I’ll be tight for you,” Richie whispered, a sinful smirk on his lips. “It’s been a little while.”

“You’re-you’re vulgar,” Eddie hissed, cutting off his thoughts with a steel willed wall of GROCERIES. 

“You’re tempted,” Richie cooed. He shimmied in between Eddie’s legs and wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s shoulders. “Yeah? Aw, wait. Think you could even reach? The counters are kinda high--“

“BYE, asshole,” Eddie grunted. He slipped his leg up in between them and shoved Richie back with his foot. Richie cackled, wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s ankle. 

“Darling, darling,” he sang. From upstairs they heard Richie’s phone going off again, Shakira echoing through their house. “Mm.” Richie smacked a kiss to the sole of Eddie’s foot; Eddie kept his leg extended like wrought iron, unyielding. 

“Answer that,” he said firmly. “Because if I have to suffer through another Shakira-soundtracked home activity, I’m divorcing you.”

“It’s that easy?” 

“It’s that easy.”

“But we’re not even married yet!” 

“I’ll start a tab for you- what?” Richie was grinning at him, Eddie’s foot still held dangerously close to his mouth. “What are you staring at.”

“My handiwork,” he said, smug. Eddie blushed and felt around the base of his neck, Richie’s lovebites from last night tender underneath his questing fingers. “You look _so_ fucking sexy, Eddie.”

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbled, smiling. “You just love the summertime because you can get extra handsy.”

“Extra mouthy,” Richie corrected. “Yeah, can’t exactly get away with it during the semester. My boy has an image to uphold.” 

“Yeah, and you have a fucking phone to answer.” Richie just hummed and popped Eddie’s big toe into his mouth. “UGH!” Eddie yanked his foot back. “I was walking around in sandals all morning, Rich! That’s so FUCKING nasty!”

“You taste like Seattle,” Richie said sagely. He twirled and leapt passed Eddie’s misaimed kick, laughing. “Too slow, old man!” He cried, vaulting up the steps to get his phone.

Eddie shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Fucking maniac,” he muttered. He hopped down off of the counter and starting putting his vegetables away, humming. 

“Yeeeeello,” he heard Richie drawl as he hopped back into the room, his absurdly large iPhone pressed against his ear. Eddie tossed him some fruit and, dutifully, Richie started to put it away. “Yeah, I sure fucking hope you know it’s Richie Tozier. You called me like fifty-seven times,” Richie hummed absently, grabbing some more items from the counter. Eddie watched him with a little half smile. “Ayuh. Yeah,” Richie frowned and cocked his hips out, holding a carton of eggs in one hand. “No, buddy, I don’t know a Mike from Maine- wait, from Derry? I don’t--“ 

Eddie paused. He felt sluggish and weird, suddenly, and his heart felt like it was beating through pudding. He turned his head to look at Richie, who was staring absently at nothing; his eyes were wide and his face was flushed. 

“Mike Hanlon,” Richie breathed. 

“Who?” Eddie mouthed, but either Richie didn’t notice or was ignoring him. 

A huge smile spread across Richie’s face. “MIKEY,” he crowed. He shoved the eggs into the fridge and twirled. “Oh my GOD, Mikey, Michael, Mikey my LOVE, I--“ he paused, laughing. “Yeah, fuckwad, still the same Richie. Yeah,” Richie looked at his ring absently, smiling, and Eddie warmed. He turned back to his groceries. “He’s here. You bet your ass ‘the whole time’. He’s my Spaghetti.” 

“Rich?” Eddie asked, a little smile on his face. He moved across the kitchen to his fiancé and pressed a palm against his chest. Richie leaned back against the counter and swept an arm around Eddie, grinning. “Who is it?”

“Shh, Daddy’s on the phone--“

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie grumbled. He reached for the phone but Richie held his hands down, chuckling. “Richard, please don’t forget that I can fucking flip you with one arm--“

“What-- wait,” Richie tone dropped and Eddie shut his mouth. 

“Richie?” He whispered. Richie’s hand tightened on his arm. “ _Ow_.”

“It can’t be,” Richie said simply. His eyes were almost painfully wide now, and his full, wide mouth was pressed into a thin line. He looked angry, angry and scared--

No, not scared. _Terrified_.

Richie let out a shuddering sigh and released Eddie’s arm. “I,” he licked his lips and darted his eyes, maneuvering away from Eddie in jerky motions. “I lied to you, Mikey, okay? I’ll…I’ll come, I’ll be there. I’ll pack and leave right now, but Eddie isn’t here.” Eddie raised both of his eyebrows.

“Richie--“ Richie turned on him, holding a rigid finger up to his lips. Eddie stopped, starting to feel quite scared himself. 

“I don’t fucking know, Mike,” Richie snapped. “Somewhere in Australia. Look for him there. He left me, uh, eight years ago. I don’t know where he is, so…so you won’t be able to find him, probably, you won’t be able to bring him back into this, don’t try to bring him back into this, Mikey, please--“ Richie’s voice cracked. Alarm bells wailed in Eddie’s head. He stormed forward and grabbed the phone out of Richie’s hands, ducking when the taller man tried to snatch it back. “NO, Eddie--“

“This is Eddie Kaspbrak,” he hissed into the receiver, ignoring Richie’s desperate scrabbling. “Who are you? Want to tell me what the hell is going on?” 

“Eddie,” the voice on the other end of the line was deep and warm. “Hi. I’m so sorry; I wish I were hearing your voice again under better circumstances.”

“Better circumstances my ass,” Eddie snapped. “I don’t know who you are, but you have about ninety seconds to expla--“

“It’s Mike Hanlon--“

“I got that, thanks, I don’t know a Mike Hanlon--“

“Just try to remember,” Mike soothed. “Mike Hanlon from Derry. I was home schooled. We were friends until our early twenties--“ 

“Wait. Oh my god,” Eddie whispered. Mike was still speaking in slow, considerate tones, but Eddie wasn’t listening anymore. He _did_ remember; it was as if long-stored emotions and faces and places had burst from behind a membrane in his mind. He was flooded and he remembered that he had loved Mike. Mike, with his laughing eyes and his incredibly kind smile, his work calloused hands, he--

_\--when they were teens, Mike had said “I’ll never tell them when you close your eyes during scary movies, Eddie, promise--”_

_“Good for you,” Mike said. He pulled Eddie into a firm hug. “Love you both. I’m happy for you--“_

_“We’re not blessed, and it isn’t easy. I want to work at it harder, everyday that I’m alive, because they’re counting on me. That’s all. That’s the magic--“_

“W-we were friends,” Eddie swallowed. He leaned back hard against the counter. Richie was standing opposite him, stock still, his face buried into his hands. He was shaking.

“Right,” Mike said. “I’ve been keeping track, because I had this fear, when we all started to forget…I moved back to the farm after college and it all came back to me. So I started keeping tabs. I knew I’d have to call--“

“Don’t--“

“Eddie, I’m so sorry--“

“No, Mikey, _please_ \--“

“It’s back, Eddie. It’s back, and…and you and Richie made a promise. I wish it wasn’t the case, but it is, and you both have to come home.” 

“No,” Eddie slid down the counter until his was sitting on the floor. “We killed It, It’s dead, we--“

_I’ll blow you for a quarter, kid--_

_\--tasty, tasty, beautiful fear--_

_Bob Gray will do it for a dime, Bob Gray will do it anytime--_

_\--there was screaming, so much screaming; he plunged through the ceiling and his arm snapped in two and “THIS ISN’T REAL ENOUGH FOR YOU I WAS REAL ENOUGH FOR GEORGIE” and oh Georgie, poor Georgie--_

“--we killed it, Mike, we _did_ , I was there, I KNOW, we did, Richie, Richie,” and Richie’s hands seized his shoulders and Eddie’s voice was thin and reedy in his own ears. “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe ‘Chee, _help_ me--“ 

“You can, baby,” Richie held him tight. Eddie was wheezing in his hands; he couldn’t make the air flow through him, he couldn’t inhale or exhale, he was going to die, here on his kitchen floor, from an asthma attack, asthma that he didn’t have--

_“You’re very sick,” he heard his mother saying. “Very sick, and a very delicate boy--_

_“Get a load of the girly boy, the little faggot boy, can’t go anywhere without his inhaler, needs to stick SOMETHING in his mouth, am I right--_

_“Placebos, Eddie, that’s all they are--_

_“I’ll do it for a dime I’ll do it ANYTIME COME JOIN THE CLOWN EDS IF YOU LIVED HERE YOU’D BE HOME BY NOW--_

“I need my inhaler, Richie!” He screamed, and Richie was off like a bullet from a gun. 

Eddie fell to the floor, clutching his chest, heaving, trying to catch a breath. He thought for a moment that all of the good health in the world wouldn’t save him and that he would have a heart attack, that he would die before Richie got back downstairs, with Mike Hanlon listening on the phone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, well; it seemed like a better option. 

But Richie was back in under a minute. He shook the L-shaped piece of plastic and shoved it into Eddie’s mouth, pumped it twice, and Eddie gasped. He felt his vision dim and his eyes start to roll back, unconsciousness a cool, black bath beneath him, but he held on. Richie scooped him into his lap and his face came into focus over Eddie, terrified and milk-pale, and--

_\--we could kill ourselves here, we could do it together, and there wouldn’t be any more FEAR and there wouldn’t be any more PAIN, and there would never be any more PENNYWISE how nice it would be not to float but to sink, to sink forever with Richie Richie Richie--_

“Come back, come back to me, baby,” Richie said. He set the inhaler down and cupped Eddie’s cheek. “Eddie, show me that you’re in there--“

“I’m here,” Eddie heaved, held on, didn’t throw up. “I’m here.”

“Thank fuck,” Richie said. He reserved a moment to run his fingers back through Eddie’s hair, to push it away from his clammy forehead. It grounded Eddie; he felt childish and scared, but right now….

His name was Eddie Kaspbrak.

He was in his kitchen.

 _He was not where he had dreamed._

“I’m glad you kept that,” Richie said, nodding towards the inhaler. He yanked Eddie up and hugged him, and Eddie shivered in his arms. No, he never would throw the inhaler away, the last one he’d gotten just after they’d bought their house nine years ago. He realized now, with a bone-deep sensation of terror, that he hadn’t been allowed to. 

Richie was still stroking back Eddie’s hair, searching his face with his eyes. He grabbed his dropped phone and jabbed at the screen. “Mike,” he said, shaky. “You still there? We…we had some--“

“--asthma related interference,” Eddie croaked. 

“I’m here,” Mike said, his voice bell-clear on speaker-phone. “I’m still here.” 

“We’ll leave tonight or tomorrow morning,” Eddie said. He sat up against Richie, grabbed his inhaler off of the floor, and took another blast. Richie’s arms tightened around his waist. “Whatever we can get. We’ll…we’ll be there, Mike.”

“Fly into Portland,” Mike suggested. “Then you can rent a car and drive down.”

“Okay,” Richie said. 

“Okay,” Mike agreed. “I’ll see you both soon.” There was a click, and the screen of Richie’s phone went dark. 

“See you soon,” Richie said faintly, a little too late. He dropped his phone and crushed Eddie against his chest, burying his face into the smaller man’s hair, and for a moment, Eddie wanted to pretend that it was something stupid that had caused this. Richie had dropped the eggs, or they’d bumped heads, or Eddie had slipped and fallen. They were just normal, brand new fiancés on the floor, huddled together and silent, and this would pass like the flash from a firework. 

Oh, how very badly Eddie wanted to pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVE-MUFFINS!! I hope you all had a splendid night, that you're well rested and feeling hydrated, healthy, and happy.
> 
> So, since you guys enjoyed these last time, let's have some Li'l Headcanons!: 
> 
> LET'S TALK TATTOOS (and piercings!): Richie has a fair few of these bad boys. He has a lot of American Traditional stuff and a lot of straight realism.  
> HIS LEGS: One thigh has a clipper ship, and the other thigh has a gypsy girl head, both AT style. He has a rose and dagger on his right calf, neo-trad, and Jesse and Lettie's thumbprints on the top of his left foot.  
> HIS MIDDLE: You know my boy got that tribal Sun on his stomach around his navel. Still has the anchor over his heart- Eddie's signature is a newer addition, and it's not very well done, oops. It's the thought that counts?  
> RIGHT ARM: He's still got that wild purple octopus, and he's actually had it re-done once to give it more detail. His drug related scaring was worse on that arm, so he had some more detail and shading added to cover up the scars that peeks through as it healed.  
> LEFT ARM: This arm is sleeved TF out. Richie has a huge, beautiful gay pride flag tattoo on his left forearm, from his wrist to above his elbow. Above that he has a TON of flowers, full color- roses and lilies and indian paintbrushes, forget-me-nots, lots of beautiful stuff. He'd actually like to get the flowers pulled up to his shoulder.  
> THE BACK OF HIS NECK: "VII.II.MMI"- August 2nd, 2001. The day he had his last ever drink. He's been sober since then.  
> BEHIND HIS RIGHT EAR: A weird little stick and poke evil eye. Eddie hates this one, passionately.  
> HIS BACK: The eagle and snake described in this chapter :)  
> PIERCINGS!: His navel, his nipple, and his tongue. He had his eyebrow for two fucking seconds- it caught on a washcloth and ripped out. It was HORRIFYING. He thought about getting dermal in his hips, but vaguely feels like he's too old for it. He has his ear lobes pierced, and his left ear is pierced all of the way up and around his cartilage.  
> Eddie, uh, still has one hoop in his right earlobe. THAT'S ALL FOR HIM. 
> 
> Their phones: Richie has an iPhone 6+. His lock screen is himself, Eddie, Lettie, Jessie, Charlie and Annie at the Grammy Awards. His home screen is Eddie reading in bed, smiling a little, naked and under a sheet. Eddie has the iPhone 6 (tiny handed dude). His lock screen is him and Annie at her baby shower, and his home screen is Richie, mid-sneeze with his hands thrown up all crazy. He laughs every time he opens his phone. 
> 
>  
> 
> Alright guys, that's it for this round. Chapter three will be around soon- as always, your words and feelings are exceptionally precious to be. I savor all of your feedback. <3 Thank you, and I'll see you next time!!  
> xoxoxoxo  
> waxagent


	3. Take Me Home, Country Roads

Eddie kept his hands religiously at ten and two for the last leg of the drive up to Derry, his fingers white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel. The flight across the country had been particularly rough on Richie, turbulent and unrelenting. He was curled up in the passenger seat now, in sweats and a t-shirt, a beanie pulled low over his eyes. Eddie had the music turned all of the way down; the sound of Richie’s soft breathing made him feel strong, like he’d been charged to protect the other man, like his life was a precious gift placed solely in Eddie’s hands.

Since it was only June, Eddie hadn’t had to make any phone calls to announce his immediate departure from Seattle. He’d listened with wincing sympathy while Richie had called Lettie, then his agent, and Jesse--

_“I know,” Richie had said, pacing and smoking like a chimney. It was a mark of how bad things were that he was smoking in their bedroom- and that Eddie was letting him. “Jess. I-- ugh, I know she’s due soon and I know we said we’d be there. It’s a family thing-- well, no, not my mom. Yeah, Eddie’s mom lives in the Northeast still, but it’s not- it’s…listen--” Richie stopped short suddenly, and there was so much hurt on his face that Eddie ran to him. Richie pulled him in and held him tight with one arm. “It’s not drugs. I’m clean, you know I am.”_

_Eddie squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Richie wilt in his arms and he held him even tighter, rubbing the taller man’s back._

_Richie sighed; a sad, tired sound. “If it was heroin, I would get help,” he said softly. “Yes. Yes, of course. I would NEVER do that to you, or to Letts, or Eds. Not ever again. I just- Jesse. I made a promise. I have to go.” He let out a humorless laugh. “I can’t. You’d think I was crazy if I told you.” Richie rubbed his face. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Buddy, I…I love you. Eddie loves you. Tell Annie we love her too. No, it’s just…you know I’m dramatic. I hate flying.”_

Richie groaned and sat up. He pulled his beanie off and ruffled his hair, looking around the car with a dazed expression. “Who let you get the mom-mobile?” 

“Mom-mobiles are practical, especially if we have to drive anybody else around,” Eddie said. He felt Richie’s hand, warm and huge, close over his knee. “And also- don’t act like you weren’t there when I signed for it.”

“I bet we could transport a demon clown corpse in here,” Richie mumbled. “It’ll fit right in the trunk, stellar.” He yawned hugely, stretching back. “Can I smoke in here?”

“No.” 

“Cool,” Richie said, sticking a cigarette in his mouth and flicking his lighter open. 

“Richard, I said no--“

“What? So weird, baby, it sounds like you’re speaking Spanish or something.”

“No in Spanish is still no; you’re just not listening to me. You have a vape in your pocket, smoke that instead--“

“Mmm, what?” Richie rolled down his window and turned up the radio. “I can’t hear you, sweetpea--“

“Turn that down, I’m trying to focus on the GPS--“

“You really do have the sweetest face in the whole world. You’re so fucking beautiful, Eds.”

Eddie flushed. His mouth snapped shut and he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You still have to turn this down. And stop smiling.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“I don’t even need to anymore,” Eddie bit his bottom lip and turned. A sign loomed ahead of them, monolithic and awful:

**DERRY WELCOMES YOU!**

Eddie wanted to scream.

“Ugh,” Richie dragged on his cigarette. “Derry can die in a fucking tire fire.” 

“The feeling is mutual, probably.”

“Derry doesn’t want me to die in a tire fire. Derry wants to chew me up and make bread from my bones--“

“Don’t,” Eddie said harshly. “Richie, please, just…don’t.”

Richie squeezed Eddie’s knee, his thumb running circles through his jeans. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Where are we heading?”

“The Derry Townhouse.“

“That old bitch? It’s still standing?”

“That’s what Mike texted me,” Eddie said. He made a right and then a quick left, his eyes on the road. Richie yelped, suddenly, his fingers like claws in Eddie’s leg, and Eddie slammed the breaks. He was lucky that nobody was behind him on the road. “What? Richie! What di--“

“Nothing,” Richie said hastily, his eyes frantic. He flicked his cigarette out of the window and closed it. Eddie watched him lock the door for good measure. “Just. I thought I saw something.”

Eddie folded a hand over his fiancé’s. If he saw a flash of red rubber in the rearview mirror, a bright, hellish sphere of it floating skyward, well. He didn’t mention it to Richie. 

They arrived at the Townhouse and checked in with little fanfare. They went to their room and closed themselves inside; Eddie double locked the door while Richie checked the windows. They faced each other. 

“Dinner’s in two hours?” Richie kicked off his sneakers and tore off his hat.

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbled. He felt wild, caged and strange. “Mike sent me the place in a group message. Nobody but you and me are in the thread, though, what mystery do you think he’s trying to preserve?”

“He’s doing the best he can--“

“Because I don’t remember him being about the theater of the thing--“

“Eddie--“

“I don’t like it here, Richie, all of my hair is standing on end, I’m--“

“Baby--“

“I’m scared,” Eddie said, his voice barely audile. He toed off his loafers and paused for a second before shucking his t-shirt. “I’m terrified, Rich.”

“Eds--“ 

“I don’t want to think about it, okay? I can’t,” Eddie smiled weakly. He took down his jeans and kicked them aside. “I’ll go insane. I know it. I’ll lose my mind and…and there’s no way back from that.” 

“You aren’t going to go crazy--“

“I can feel it in the back of my head,” Eddie whispered. “I can hear It, I…I--“

“Shhh,” Richie said. He’d crossed the chasm of space between them in two steps. He shrugged off his shirt and kicked off his jeans, and then he lifted Eddie and settled him on the bed. 

“Richie,” Eddie whispered. His eyes were full of tears and he was trembling. “I can’t do it again, I can’t, I’m a coward. I know I promised, but I--“

“It’s so crazy you should say that,” Richie murmured, climbing over Eddie. He cupped his face, and Eddie felt the warm metal of Richie’s engagement ring against his cheek. “Because Eddie Kaspbrak is the bravest man I know.”

“No--“

“He never runs from a challenge. He’s strong and stable, and he holds me when I’m slipping,” Richie kissed the corner of Eddie’s jaw, and down his neck. “He’s a little no-nonsense and yeah, he’s small,” Eddie huffed out a laugh and covered his face. “But he’s a little ass-kicker, too. Have you seen his biceps? His fucking _legs_? God, I could nut.” 

“You’re disgusting--“

“Seriously, check out those abs sometime, okay--“

“Shut up, ‘Chee--“

“You’re so solid,” Richie kissed his way back up to Eddie’s lips. They melted together there for a moment, and Eddie’s fingers found Richie’s hair. He tugged a little and Richie smiled into his mouth. “So fucking brave,” he whispered. “Eddie, you’re so _brave_.” He thumbed away a tear from Eddie’s cheek. “You’re the bravest part of us. I’ve always been the weak one and you know it. I cave in to everything; you’re the strong one.”

“No--“

“Yes,” Richie said firmly. “And if you need it you can take it all.” He kissed Eddie again, licking into him with slow, steady motions. “Mm,” he broke back to suck on Eddie’s lip. “All my strength and everything I’ve got, baby, I’ll give it to you--“

“ _Richie_ \--“

“I think…” he trailed off, smiling. “I think that’s what it means; to marry somebody. To be somebody’s everything,” he pressed their foreheads together and stared into Eddie’s eyes, looking every bit as serious as he ever had before. “I will _never_ let anything happen to you. I’m going to protect you. When we’re done here, we’ll--“

“Get married,” Eddie croaked. He cupped Richie’s face. “We’ll get married, we’ll invite Annie, Charlie, the band--“

“The Losers,” Richie said suddenly.

“Yeah, yes, _god_ ; how could we get married without them,” Eddie ran a thumb over Richie’s lips. “I don’t even remember their names,” he admitted. Richie smiled and shrugged in agreement. “But when I think of them I feel whole.” 

“We’ll see them tonight,” Richie said, and Eddie felt his heart swell with bravery and love and friendship. “Me too,” Richie nipped at Eddie’s thumb. “I feel it too.”

The foundation of their incredible love made sense, suddenly. Pictures of Richie that Eddie had long forgotten were unfolding in his brain, events, memories of all kind. He felt more love for Richie than he’d ever thought possible, powerful and all consuming, and realized that even with both of their hearts poured all in, they’d only been loving each other with half of themselves this entire time. Eddie stood on the precipice of their love now, the full thing; he felt it greedily and wondrously, like he could touch Richie’s heart with his own, no barriers and no strings. Richie looked sweet and young on top of him; his wide eyes and his full, parted lips and his greying hair, the stubble growing on his cheeks and chin. Everything about him was singing to Eddie. He felt terribly blessed to never have forgotten him. 

“Okay,” he said eventually, wiping his face. “But I don’t have anything to give back to you.” _There’s nothing I have that’s worth everything that you are to me._

“Just you, Sunshine,” Richie rolled off of Eddie and onto his side. “Just you. That’s all I want.”

“Okay,” Eddie grinned weakly. He rolled over to face Richie. “I’ll take it all now, then.”

“Hmm?”

“Your bravery and strength, please.”

Richie stared at him for a second and burst out laughing. He wrapped his arms around Eddie and, Eddie had to giggle as he pressed his face into Richie’s throat. “Fucking funny, Eds; you’re a real cut up!”

Feeling grounded, Eddie nudged Richie onto his back and climbed on top of him. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your share,” Richie’s hands found his hips instinctually. “All of me,” Eddie whispered. He ducked down and kissed his fiancé, wiggling as Richie hummed into his mouth and slid his hand back under Eddie’s briefs to cup his ass. 

For a while, then, they existed separate from all of their terrible, dark fears, swathed in and around each other. 

*

“Eddie,” Richie whispered later. It was almost the first thing he had said for the last two hours. He was sitting up, a nicotine patch slapped carelessly on the side of his neck. Eddie was in his lap, naked, sated, and feeling calmer than he’d felt in almost two days. 

“Mm?” Eddie sighed, rubbing his face against Richie’s shoulder and enjoying the press of their bodies. 

“You’re so sexy.”

Eddie laughed softly, fixing his glasses. It was wildly inappropriate, honestly. But it felt strong and real and right. “Yeah, well. That’s not new.” 

“And your hair is a birds’ nest.”

“Oh, my hair? Really?” Eddie got up and walked into the bathroom, ignoring Richie’s wolf whistle. “Have you ever looked at your hair? Just one time?” He frowned at his reflection. Using quick little motions of his fingers, he tried to piece his hair back into some semblance of order. His summertime blonde was showing through, shiny and bright, and his Ivy League haircut almost felt a little outdated. His eyes were over shiny and tired. He wondered for an absurd moment if his old friends would even recognize him. 

“You’re just gonna shower anyway,” Richie hummed. He sidled into the cramped bathroom behind Eddie, smiling. “And I’m just gonna mess it up again later.” 

“Not likely,” Eddie snarked, and Richie grinned at him, all perfectly straight, white teeth. Laser fixed eyes. Pretty, perfect skin and a trendy hairdo. 

“What?”

“Sorry,” Eddie said. “Admiring the view.” 

“These mixed messages are destroying me,” Richie groaned. Eddie laughed, leaning back into his partner. Richie dropped a kiss onto his head. He leaned over and turned on the shower, singing quietly to himself. “Shower?”

“There’s no way we’ll both fit in there, Rich.”

“I’m _hella_ up for the challenge.”

* * *

“Mike said the place was just called ‘The Jade’,” Eddie said. 

“Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, it’s newer,” they waited at a stoplight and crossed the street. Derry felt eerie around them. It had an egregiously bad tempered look of the old shoved up alongside the new; the Paramount was still there, but the Aladdin was torn down, a shiny brick and blue glass bank erected in its place. Eddie felt conflicted; on the one hand, he had loved the Aladdin. It had been an incredibly old building, stately and magnificent, with sweeping staircases to the theaters and a chandelier. On the other hand, he honestly wished the whole town had been torn down over the last twenty or so years, burned to scratch and salted afterwards. “He said it felt like neutral territory.”

“I can see that.” Richie took a drag on his cigarette. Three teenagers walking by looked at him and recognition lit one of their faces; Richie blanched and pulled his beanie down tighter over his head, rounding his shoulders. He wasn’t in the mood to be talked to by strangers, fans or otherwise. He looked nice, if casual; tight black jeans and a floral print t-shirt with a very light denim jacket. Eddie had opted to go a little dressier with his dark grey cashmere sweater, pressed khakis and black loafers. His wristwatch was an oversized silver Patek Philippe, a gift from Richie for their twentieth anniversary. The silver band on the fourth finger of his left hand sparkled in the twilight. 

Richie slid his arm around Eddie as soon as they walked into the restaurant and Eddie could practically feel his muscles relaxing, his mind winding down. It had only been a five block walk, but it had been five blocks across an open battlefield. 

“Feels like Switzerland,” Richie said, a huge smile on his face. He’d felt it too. “Looks like we’re first.”

“Looks like it.”

“I’m gonna go piss,” Richie said. He ran a long finger down the side of Eddie’s face. “Think longingly of me?”

“I hope you fall in,” Eddie said sweetly. Richie laughed and ruffled Eddie’s hair, walking away with his hands in his pockets. “Oh, you fucking asshole,” Eddie grumbled. He walked over to the front desk and cleared his throat gently, attracting the attention of the hostess. “Is there anybody else from the Hanlon party here?”

“Just one moment, Sir,” she said. She checked the computer screen in front of her. “No, it seems as though you’re the first. We can seat you at your table now, or you can wait for the other members of your party. Which ever you prefer.”

“We’ll wait for a minute. Thank you.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “My name is Rose, if you need anything.”

Eddie nodded, going about the work of trying to fix his hair. He turned around and checked his watch, content to wait, when he heard the door breeze open. 

A woman walked in. She was short, smaller than Eddie, and had a cascading mane of copper hair pulled off to once side of her elfin face. She was wearing loose linen pants, a sage green blouse and no jewelry, and Eddie remembered her suddenly with a weird sense of double vision; how she’d been the smallest one of them but in many ways, the strongest, the fiercest and the most brave, how she’d always been able to beat any of them in Street Fighter, how she’d always fucking won every goddamn round of Loogie that she’d ever played--

“Eddie,” Beverly whispered, her hands flying up to her mouth. “Oh my god, Eddie!” She lunged for him and he picked her up into his arms, kissing both of her cheeks and squeezing her tightly.

“Bevvie,” he sighed out, beaming, and they embraced each other tenderly. “Oh my god, it’s been so long. How are you? You look amazing, you look--“

“No, you look--“

“Tell me everything, Chicago, right--“

“No, you first, you asshat,” Bev grinned, punching Eddie in the arm. “Look at you! A married man.”

“What?” Eddie asked, bemused. Beverly shook his left hand. “Oh! Oh, no, I’m only engaged, I mean, I will be married--“

“Are you the first one here?”

“Yes, I…god,” he beamed at her and she cupped his face. On wild instinct, he turned his head and kissed the thin, silvery scar on her palm. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You too,” she said. Her eyes were warm while she traced her thumb over his chin. “You’re so blonde!”

“Summertime, y’know.”

“You’ll have to tel--“

“Well fuck me sideways and call me Sally.” Beverly whipped around, covering her mouth again. This time, her wide eyes rapidly filled with tears. Richie smiled at her from across the lobby, teetering on the balls of his feet. “Hi, Bevvie. You look gorgeous.”

“Richard Tozier, you absolute asshole,” Beverly whispered, and then they collided in a fit of affection that made Eddie laugh. He watched while Richie lifted her up and spun her around. She kissed him all over his face, catching his lips and his nose and his forehead. “You asshole,” she insisted. She ripped off his beanie and carded her fingers back through his wild hair. “You trendy fucking hipster bastard!”

“You beautiful bitch,” Richie cooed. He started jumping up and down and Bev shrieked with laughter, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “I love you, bitch, I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you, bitch--“

“They’ll kick us out before everybody gets here,” Eddie said, but even as he said it he knew that it wouldn’t happen; this was a safe place. 

Richie pouted at him. “Killjoy.” He set Beverly down after one more spin, kissing her forehead. “I saw you getting re-acquainted with our dearest Spaghetti.” 

“Richard.” 

“Our dearest Spaghedward, then, if you’re feeling nasty.”

Bev giggled. “Of course. He’s grown up to be so dapper. You look like a fucking ragamuffin.” 

Richie gasped and staggered backwards, his hand over his heart. “I have it on good authority,” he said, pointing at Beverly. “That I look like a _rock star_.”

“Who told you that, your mom?”

“No. Eddie’s mom.”

Eddie raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms. “This is what we’re doing? Really?”

“You know I can’t resist her,” Richie said solemnly. 

Beverly grabbed his left hand and whistled lowly, examining his ring. “Some rock, Richie. Sapphire?” 

Richie beamed, bouncing a little. “Only the best from my baby.” He shot Eddie a sweet look and Eddie smiled bashfully, blushing. 

“When’d you get married?” She punched Richie suddenly in the arm. “You jackass. I know you didn’t remember me but don’t think that’s a get out of jail free card for not having me at your wedding. I bet it was a party.”

“Ow, Bevs, cool it with the fists of fury. I didn’t get married yet, actually, and if you want an invite you’ll keep your hands off of my delicate flesh. I bruise easy. I’m emotionally fragile--” 

“Blah blah, whatever,” she grinned. “Tell me all about him. How’d you- ah.” She grimaced suddenly, turning to shoot Eddie an apologetic look. “Sorry. I…I just remembered that you used to…you guys had a thing.” 

Eddie blinked. “Oh Jesus, no, Bev--“

“No, it’s insensitive that I asked. Eddie--“

“Eddie’s fiiiiiine,” Richie drawled. There was a twinkle in his eye that Eddie feared and loathed in equal measure. “Lemme tell you about my guy, okay, first of all; TOTAL twink--“

“RICHIE--“

“Shhh, Eddie, you can tell us all about your incredibly studly and hot as fuck fiancé next, but Daddy has the floor right now,” Richie smirked while Eddie seethed. “So, like I said; twink city. He’s got a mouth on him that’s filthier than anything I’ve ever heard OR felt, and his legs make me fucking weak, Bev,” Richie pretended to swoon and Bev laughed. “He’s got this big heart and this sweet, beautiful, handsome face. He teaches psychology but he also counsels gay kids AND teaches self defense seminars AND writes papers on homosexual and queer representations AND he volunteers at the LGBTQ center in Seattle, so yeah, he’s completely perfect. Sweet guy. Love him.” 

Bev was beaming at Richie but it was lost on him; he was smiling fondly at Eddie, who suddenly couldn’t find an ounce of anger in himself anymore. 

“And his ass,” Richie stage-whispered, staring directly at the smaller man. “Is the most delicious, fuckable, tight little thing on this planet, Beverly, my hand to god.” Ah, well, there was the righteous indignation. 

“Okay, you nasty,” Bev giggled, shoving Richie back. 

“You love the details, baby girl,” Richie cooed. “Alright, Eddie, come on, tell us eager peasants about your hot tamale.” 

Eddie crossed his arms. “He’s an idiot, mostly.” Richie’s grin widened. “He’s…he’s a musical genius. He’s smart, and he’s handsome, and he’s everything I’ve ever wanted.” He shrugged. His thoughts were haywire, errant and compulsive; Richie’s smile, his hands, his warm weight when he pressed Eddie into their bed, his laugh while they watched The Office- obnoxious and loud, generated from his stomach- his stage presence and his alarming level of skill in nearly every single task he undertook--

He must have been telegraphing his thoughts on his face, because both Beverly and Richie were smirking at him. “What?” He groused, blushing. 

“Nothing,” Beverly said. She smiled at him. “He sounds amazing--“

“Say that last piece again,” Richie said. Bev blinked at him. “One more time for the cheap seats.”

Eddie let his arms drop to his sides. “He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.” Richie stepped forward. Bev looked between the two of them, confused. “Back off, Rich, my fiancé will get pissed--“

“Quit playin’,” Richie said. He cupped Eddie’s face in both hands and kissed him soundly, smiling. “We both know your fiancé’s not the jealous type.”

“Mm,” Eddie laughed, pressing a second kiss to Richie’s top lip. “You talk like I don’t know him--“

“Um,” Richie winced and Eddie turned him around. Beverly was staring at them. “Sorry, Bevvie--“

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, but the smile on her face was strange and mechanical. “I’m…It’s good. I’m happy for you both- Richie, get _off_ \--“

“Oh, no way,” Richie yanked Beverly in between him and Eddie. He wrapped his long arms around them both. “Come on Gingersnap. Let it all out to your platonic soulmate. I’m here for you, honey.”

“It just feels weird,” Beverly said. She leaned back against Richie and pressed her face into Eddie’s shoulder. Over her head, Eddie frowned at Richie. “It feels so _weird_.”

“It’s okay, Bev,” Eddie pressed his face into her hair and felt her wind arms around his middle. “We’re all going to be--“

“Beverly? Eddie?” Eddie felt a solid, firm hand on his shoulder. He turned around and almost lost his breath.

Ben Hanscom had never been crazy tall. He stood behind Eddie now at five-nine, five-ten, max. He had a full beard, trimmed and neat, and a side swept coif of dirty blonde hair. He was wearing jeans and a light polo. He didn’t look thin, he wasn’t built to be thin, but he looked _healthy_. He was robust and his hands and arms looked big, sunburnt and strong, and Eddie’s heart leapt when Ben smiled at him. 

“Oh, wow,” Ben said. “Eddie? That is you, I thought so.”

“It’s me,” Eddie smiled. He turned around and felt Ben’s arms fold around him in a tight hug. “Hi, Ben.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he rubbed Eddie’s shoulders. “Been awhile. I wish I was seeing you under better circumstances.”

Eddie nodded and smiled tightly, trying to crush down the bubble of anxiety in his chest. “Likewise.” He felt Richie’s fingers against the back of his neck, rubbing in slow, soothing circles. “And don’t say kiddo, Ben. I’m older than you.” Ben laughed. 

“Haystack,” Richie lifted his arms from around Bev and Eddie and pulled Ben into a tight hug. “Missed you, brother.”

“I’m sorry, who’re you?”

“Oh, fuck ooooooff,” Richie whined. Everybody laughed. Ben looked at Beverly, then, the ghost of a much younger smile on his face.

“Beverly,” he said again. She looked at him, flushed and breathless and smiling lightly. Eddie remembered their love in a sharp flash; the way they’d kissed and clung to each other, the way they’d been together for what seemed like…well, like always. They’d had plans to keep in touch through college and to eventually find their way back to one another and obviously, they hadn’t. 

“Hi, Benny,” Bev said softly, and Eddie felt like he and Richie were no longer in the room at all as far as the other two were concerned. “It’s--“

“--good to see you, ah,” Ben laughed. He rubbed the back of his head nervously. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry--“

“No, me, really- July, I…I didn’t make that call--“

“I forgot my train ticket, Ben, it was _me_ \--“

“Bev, it wasn’t either of us, it was Der--“

“I’m-“ Beverly cut herself off with a harsh inhale. Ben reached for her, either to cup her face or grab her shoulder. She stepped back and he dropped his hand. A shadow flitting behind his eyes that shuttered off the naked longing in his gaze. “Still friends?”

“Oh, Bev,” Ben smiled sadly. He held out his hand. “Of course we are. No matter what.

Bev smiled. She slipped her right hand into Ben’s and used her left hand to push back her hair, clearly flustered. All three men noticed the ostentatious wedding and engagement bands on her left ring finger at the same time. They glinted off of her hand in a radiant prism of light, sparkled against her face, and then vanished from sight when she dropped both of her hands into her pockets. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Ben, please don’t hold it against me.”

“I would never,” Ben said softly. “Congratulations.” Something strange twisted in Bev’s expression, hollow and rough and the edges, like a desperate shout was waiting at the back of her throat. Whatever it was, she swallowed it back with a sweet smile. 

“Let’s see if we can get a table, okay,” she ignored Ben, Eddie, and Richie’s looks and walked to the hostess’ station, her chin and posture proud, her hair crackling like thin wisps of fire in the dim light of the lobby.

* * *

It wasn’t the _most_ awkward forty-five minutes of Eddie’s life; certainly, that had to count for something. He’d suffered through worse dinners with the paper pushers at Richie’s label and with collegiate level stuffed shirts who wanted to talk to Eddie about college statistics and acceptance rates, and anything else that was way below his board. 

Ben and Beverly couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other; they had chosen to sandwich Richie and Eddie in between them. They talked lightly, companionably even, but when Eddie and Richie even so much as smiled at each other they went silent. They hit their limit when Richie pressed his nose into Eddie’s jaw and Ben had cut himself off in the middle of his sentence, looking up and away for several long moments. Richie furrowed his brows and opened his mouth.

“Rich,” Eddie said. “Don’t.”

Ben flushed deeply. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just--“

“You don’t, either,” Eddie said severely, cutting a glare in Ben’s direction over the rims of his glasses. Ben flushed and blinked wildly, shifting back; fucking good, too, it was Eddie’s best ‘disappointed teacher’ look. “There’s no blame game here, is there?”

“No,” Bev said softly. She slid a hand up Richie’s cheek and he turned to her. She kissed his forehead. “Of course we don’t blame you,” she whispered. “It’s just a hard moment. We’ll all get through it.”

“Sorry, Ed,” Ben apologized again. 

“I said don’t, Hanscom, I swear to god,” Eddie cracked a smile. 

“He’ll beat you up, you know,” Richie cooed. He turned back to Eddie and flung his arms around the smaller man. “He’s way stronger than he looks under that big sweater.” 

“Yeah?” Bev laughed. Eddie felt her reach underneath Richie and squeeze his arms. “Let me feel those muscles, Eddie!”

“So sexy, lemme tell ya Bevvie, and you should see how he pulls his legs up over his head--“

“ _Richie_ , for the last time--“

“Beep beep, Rich,” Ben said. They all whipped around to look at him. 

The tension in the air immediately splintered and vanished. Eddie roared with laughter, cackling and clapping his hands. Richie tightened his arms around him to keep him from falling off of the chair. 

“I thought that bullshit died ages ago,” Richie whined. Eddie, still giggling, wiped a tear from his eye. 

“Yes, and,” Ben spread his arms. “Welcome back, pal.”

It was easier from then. There were laughs and smiles and while the conversation wasn’t exactly substantial, it was friendly and warm. Richie slipped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and Ben didn’t recoil; he pinched Eddie’s cheeks instead, and said “Cute, cute, cute,” in a weirdly accurate, deadpan impression of Richie. Bev and Eddie cackled with laughter and Richie, at least, had the grace to pretend he wasn’t insanely flattered. 

“Room for two more?” Eddie smiled at the sound of Mike’s voice and turned to face him. He felt love, pure and wild, rush through him at the sight of Mike Hanlon; Mike, who’d been as much of the backbone of their group as anybody else, who’d called them back to this hell, yes, but Eddie couldn’t resent him, couldn’t be mad. At the end of the day, Mike had been burdened with an impossible task, had taken up this mantle when everybody else had forgotten about it and had onlydone the best that he could with it.

He looked older than forty, tired and sad around the edges, but Mike was still radiating an energy that was both soft and warm. He wore slacks and a tucked in button down with the sleeves rolled up, and Eddie saw that his large hands were insanely calloused; he was used to hard work. When he smiled at them, Mike’s eyes were incredibly kind. 

“Oh, Mikey,” Bev gushed out. She was up and in Mike’s arms in a blink. Mike laughed and squeezed her, and it was like a dam breaking; they all piled onto him, kissed him, and cooed at him. Richie, smiling widely, kissed Mike’s cheeks and his nose, and Eddie tucked himself in between them, squeezing Mike with a deliberate, slow hug.

“Yikes, Eddie,” Mike laughed. “What the hell have you been lifting?”

“His own legs over his shoulders, didn’t I already- _ow_ , baby--“

Eddie smiled, lifting his foot off of Richie’s. “How are you Mikey?”

“I’ve been better,” Mike said softly. “But we can talk about that after. Bill’s here, he’s just in the bathroom, and we can catch up until Stan gets in later on.” 

They tensed and relaxed as one, nodding and agreeing. Better to put it off for now and languish in being together again, just for a moment longer. 

Eddie saw a hand on Mike’s shoulder. He followed it to a forearm in a corduroy blazer and a green shirt, dark jeans and a _very_ nice pair of black shoes. “Hi,” Bill said, smiling. “Hi, everybody.

Bill had the same sweet smile and the same clear, piercing blue eyes that Eddie remembered, though they were set into an older face. He had some stubble, blondish-red, and his fine auburn hair was thinning, his hairline receded. He was incredibly handsome, and Eddie was suddenly un-tethered, afloat in a sea of memories. He watched Bill grimace and knew that he’d suddenly remembered, too; they had not parted ways on good terms--

_“Eddie,” Bill said. They were sat on Bill’s bed, and Eddie was hiccupping, crying, and almost inconsolable. It was sunny outside, late summer. Eddie was twenty-four, and would be twenty-five in a month and a half. Bill Denbrough would not be there to celebrate. “It’s only one y-year. People go on study abroad programs all of the time.”_

_“We need you here,” Eddie sobbed, wiping at his eyes. “Bill, I c-can’t take care of Richie without you.” Bill sighed and took a sip from the bottle of rum in between them. It was half empty._

_“Richie is a grown man--“_

_“--addicted to snorting heroin,” Eddie sniffled. “And everything else he can get his hands on.”_

_“Talk to him,” Bill said softly._

_“I can’t.”_

_“You’ve never tried--“_

_“You try,” Eddie snapped._

_“I have,” Bill said. Something angry flashed in his eyes. “You know that I have, over and over again, Eddie. He doesn’t listen--“_

_“So why should I--“_

_“Because he’s in love with you,” Bill said. “He l-loves you, and you love him.”_

_“I love him, right,” Eddie spat. There was a bitter, mocking edge to his words. “It’d be easier if I’d fallen in love with anybody else. You. Anybody.” They must have had more friends than the three of them before Seattle, but they must not have been close. He saw the vague impressions of their faces; warm smiles and big hands, a sharp, knowing grin, but they were gone as quickly as they came to him, smudged out like ink under running water._

_“Don’t say that.”_

_“It’s true,” Eddie slid closer to Bill on his bed. He was still crying. “I’m l-lonely, Bill. I’m worried about Richie everyday. I’m sad all of the time--“_

_“Eddie--“_

_“Shut up,” Eddie said softly. They were nose to nose. “Just…shut the fuck up, Bill.” He kissed his best friend, a soft press of his parted lips. He dipped his tongue back to trace the seam of Bill’s mouth and Bill pushed him back sternly, gripping his shoulders. “Billy--“_

_“No.”_

_“I--“_

_“No,” Bill said, and his tone brokered no room for argument. “If you th-think I’m doing anything like this with you, you’re insane.”_

_“I need it,” Eddie whispered. He could feel the tears spilling over again, but he kept eye contact. “I need to feel something with somebody that-that isn’t worry, or--“_

_“If you want to leave him, leave him,” Bill said simply. “D-don’t drag me in. If you want to fuck somebody else then break it off with Richie.”_

_Eddie felt his lip trembling. “Why are you saying this to me?”_

_“Because somebody has to.”_

_“I thought you were my best friend--“_

_“It’s because I am that I’m stopping you from making the biggest mistake of your life--“_

_“I don’t need you to babysit me,” Eddie hissed. He threw himself out of bed and stumbled a little. “Why don’t you just mind your own business, Bill.” He stormed out._

_When he tried to sneak back into his apartment the next morning, Bill was watching the news with a mug of coffee in his hands. Richie had his head on Bill’s shoulder and they were talking in hushed tones. They both turned around when Eddie opened the door; Richie’s face lit up, but Bill’s remained stony and serious._

_“Hey, honey,” Richie stood up. He stopped, and Eddie felt his face get hot. “Your shirt’s on backwards.”_

_Eddie nodded dumbly._

_“You were out all night,” Richie said. There was a curious lack of emotion in his voice, and when Eddie looked at him, he saw that whatever joy Richie had felt on seeing him had vanished without leaving any trace that it had been there at all._

_“I was,” Eddie said. He cleared his throat. “I…I hope you didn’t worry.”_

_“Mm,” Richie hummed. He hooked the neck of Eddie’s t-shirt in two long fingers and pulled it lower; the top of Eddie’s chest bore a flushed, pink lovebite. “No. It looks like you were in good hands.”_

_Eddie yanked his shirt back to rights, humiliated. He felt Richie’s fingers caress his shoulder gently and then drop off of him completely. “Rich…”_

_“Gonna go smoke,” Richie said thickly. “OJ’s in the fridge.” He brushed passed Eddie and walked outside with his hands in his pockets, bare-footed. Eddie felt Bill’s eyes on him all the way to the kitchen, but neither one of them said a word. They didn’t have to. They barely spoke at all before Bill left four days later; and they didn’t speak again after that, at least not until--_

\--now Bill was embracing Richie, their arms tight around each other. “Billy, Bill, Bill, Bill,” Richie sighed. Eddie shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. His chest felt tight. That wasn’t Richie anymore; Richie was sober, Richie had been sober for almost fifteen years, they told each other _everything_ now, and they were going to get married as soon as this bullshit was over. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his inhaler, taking a quick gasp off of the end of it. 

He felt Richie tug on his elbow and he smiled weakly. _I’m not that person anymore, either,_ he thought firmly. _I haven’t been that person for a very, very long time_. He settled against Richie’s side. 

“Hi Bill,” Eddie croaked. “How…how was England?” Bill stared at him for a moment and then he and Eddie grabbed each other, collapsing into an unyielding embrace. “I’m sorry we left it like that, Billy--”

“It’s fine, Eddie, it was so long ago--“

“It’s NOT fine, I wasn’t fine--“

“Aw, you’ve always been fine, baby--“

“Not now, Richie,” Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing in slow circles. “What I said and did was embarrassing,” he felt the curious eyes of Ben, Bev, and Mike- Jesus, _Mike_ \- on him, and his cheeks burned. Why was he doing this here? Now? “I’m embarrassed, and I’m _sorry_.”

Bill smiled warmly at him. “Honestly, Eddie, it was a bad time for all of us. When you, er, did what you--“

“Just leave it for now,” Eddie said hastily. He fixed his glasses. “And tell me that all is forgiven.” _Christ, this apology is twenty years overdue._

“All is forgiven.”

“You sure?”

“Always,” Bill said. Eddie flushed and crossed his arms, nodding. He noticed Richie looking at him with both brows raised and shook his head: _Later._

Richie smiled, and squeezed Eddie’s elbow. “Okay, then, I’d like to contribute to this moment; out of the goodness of my heart, Bill, here,” Richie tugged his beanie off and shook out his wild hair, handing the hat to Bill. “You know, it’s a very artistically trendy thing to shave your hair and wear a hat when you’re going bald- not that I can relate. Please enjoy my contribution to your new image.”

Bill laughed. “Fuck off, Dickard,” he took the beanie and threw it at Richie, and then Richie threw himself into Bill’s arms, kissing all over his face. 

It got easier still with Mike and Bill at their table. The nostalgia was thick and sweet, pervasive even though the lingering sadness in the mix. Eddie couldn’t ignore the way that Ben and Bev looked at each other, and the way that Mike and Bill seemed dead set on avoiding contact entirely. It made a guilty feeling stir in his abdomen, sick and uneasy, because why should he and Richie have been allowed to stay together when all of their friends fell apart?

It must have shown on his face; when he looked up to cut into his meal, Bill was smiling at him, all soft and kind. Eddie smiled back, a surge of love flooding his chest. His best friend was back in his life. 

_Until you take the fight to the sewers, at least_ , a snide little voiced coughed in the back of Eddie’s mind. He dug into his tofu with a diminished vigor and willed the fear in his mind away. This was a neutral space. Neutral. Wasn’t it?

They ate slowly, the sounds of chewing punctuated with conversation and laughter. Beverly talked about her husband with a shy, clipped tone that made Richie raise his eyebrows, and spoke about her clothing line with a wild exuberance. “We’re looking for models you know,” she teased at Richie. 

Richie batted his eyelashes. “My stars! Careful- when married women come onto me, I get fainting spells and I have to clutch my pearls.”

Beverly giggled. “No, seriously! Your face is…” she paused and gasped- across the table, Bill sat up straighter. Richie smiled, a shy edge to his expression. “Your teeth! Rich! Your _glasses_!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie murmured good-naturedly. “All fixed; a miracle of modern dentistry and lasers.” 

“Handsome, isn’t he?” Eddie grinned, leaning his head onto Richie’s shoulder. He watched the tips of his fiancé’s ears turn pink with a huge amount of satisfaction. Richie turned to him and pressed their lips together.

“Mwah,” Richie grinned into Eddie’s laugh. “Shaddup. Tell them all what you’re doing, little hero.”

Eddie pushed up his glasses, feeling quietly bashful. “Well, I’m a professor at the University of Washington at Seattle. I teach psychology and I advise a lot of students. I teach self defense--“

“Get the hell out,” Mike grinned. It was the most engaged Eddie had seen him all night. “You teach self defense?”

Eddie nodded, feeling his cheeks go hot. “Yeah, every third Saturday. It started small a few years ago, but--“

“He needs the whole gymnasium now,” Richie said proudly. “They get mats and pads and everything.”

“Get out of town,” Mike said, awe in his tone. “That’s incredible.”

“When did you learn all of that?” Bill asked, wiping his mouth.

“We started taking yoga, what--“

“--fourteen, babe--“

“--yeah, fourteen years ago, and I started taking kickboxing classes about seven years ago,” Eddie hummed. He took a sip of his water. 

“Like I said, don’t let his sweater fool you,” Richie nodded sagely. “He could probably kick my ass with very little effort.”

“I could _actually_ kick your ass with _zero_ effort,” Eddie said coyly, smiling against the rim of his glass. “But sure, we’ll go with what you said.” 

“What about you, Rich?” Ben asked. “What do you do?”

Richie shrugged. “I operate in a lucrative position in the music industry.” Eddie shot him a curious look and Richie shrugged, pecking a kiss onto his forehead. “Nothing super exciting, lots of paper pushing. How about you, Haystack?” 

Ben laughed. Above his beard his cheeks are ruddy. “I’m an architect so, just like you, a lot of paper pushing.”

“That’s fucking rad. Design any buildings that look like huge dicks, lately? Need a life model?”

Ben laughed; a hearty, lovely sound. “No, but I’ll keep everybody that’s not you in mind.” He reached over Eddie’s shoulder to twist a curl of Richie’s hair. “I like to design libraries and public spaces, really, that’s my forte.” 

“Big ballrooms?” Bev sighed, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hands. If possible, Ben’s face went even pinker. “Grand staircases? Ben, that sounds amazing--“

“Say,” Bill chimed in. “Did you do an art gallery in Manchester?” 

“I did,” Ben grinned roguishly. “You saw it?”

“Yes!” Bill laughed. “I lived in England for over ten years. I was married there.” Mike smiled softly down at his plate, but Bill didn’t see. “Divorced there too, actually.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry--“

“No,” Bill waved his hand. “Audra and I, we’re still friends. Everybody always wants to say sorry, but I don’t think they realize how bad it has to get for you to get divorced in the first place.” 

“I’ll say,” Richie said grandly. Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“What are you up to, then, Billy?” Eddie asked. 

“Writing,” Bill said. “Novels and screenplays, stuff like that, I--“

“ _Dark Rapids_!” Richie shouted suddenly. Everybody looked at him; he was pointing at Bill with a wild grin on his face. Bill smiled at him, nodding. “You wrote _Dark Rapids_! Jesus Christ, and _Quicksilver Heights_ , the werewolf in that scared the SHIT out of me!”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Holy fuck, holy fuck,” Richie shook Eddie’s shoulder. “William Denbrough. I never fucking even thought twice. _Rapids_ is on our fucking nightstand, I could have had you sign it. Damn.”

“We’ll get him later,” Eddie promised. In his head, he tallied an addendum to his future Christmas list for Richie. 

“Later, yeah,” Bill echoed. He looked wistful, and Eddie almost felt his stomach drop out below his feet. _Later_. Yikes. Hopefully. “What about you, Mikey?” Bill asked softly. He turned to look at Mike, and his posture softened, his eyes lit up, and Eddie realized; he was still in love, or remembering what their love was. Eddie hoped for the former 

“Nothing very exciting, honestly,” Mike shrugged. “I work part time at the library and I still run my grandfather’s farm; we don’t kill sheep anymore,” he added hastily. “I have it all subdivided into corn, apples, blueberries, green beans, and potatoes. I sit on the Derry Town Council, too.”

“Nothing impressive, he says,” Bev grinned. “Well, _I’m_ impressed.”

“Me too,” Bill echoed. Mike finally raised his eyes to meet Bill’s and they shared a smile. After a moment, Mike looked away from Bill and flipped open his phone. He frowned. 

“What?” Ben asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Mike said. He pocketed his phone with a smile. “Just should have heard from Stan by now.”

“Stan the Man,” Richie sighed. “Wow. _Wow_.”

“I’m sure his flight just got delayed,” Ben said. 

“I’m sure,” Mike agreed. “Desert? They have an astounding desert here.” 

When the dessert did come, Richie was beside himself. He clapped his long hands and beamed like it was his birthday while Rose lit a baked alaska at the head of their table. “Flambé,” he mooned, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “Flambé at _my_ table, can you believe it?” 

“Well,” Rose said, smiling. “At the Jade, Sir, we do our very best to grant all of your wishes.”

Richie blinked, and Eddie watched his smile turn a little winsome. “I appreciate the sentiment, my dear, but, uh, I don’t think you have that power.” 

Something about that sentence coming out of Richie’s mouth dampened all of their spirits. Mike and Bill looked at each other, and Eddie felt the second hand ache of the longing in Bill’s eyes, the sadness that pulled down the corners of his lips. Mike gave him a tired smile. 

“I should fill you all in,” he said. The exhaustion in him was palpable. 

“Can it wait, Mike?” Bill asked. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” Mike said. 

“One more night,” Bev said, smiling nervously. “To catch up some more and…”

“If we’re going to do this, we deserve it,” Ben said firmly. 

“I mean, I’m like a tree in the wind,” Richie said. “I’m just happy to be included,” but his tone was sharp and narrow. Eddie held his hand.

“Okay,” Mike said. He stood up. “We can get drinks, and I’ll take you back to the Townhouse. Tomorrow morning, though, we have to do this. We can’t put it off forever.” 

They each paid for themselves, and they left their fortune cookies on the table, fully wrapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS WHY THE HELL WAS THIS ONE SO HARD?
> 
> I hope you all like it, UGH, I agonized over this, I don't even know why. 
> 
> The next chapter will be up in around a week and THAT, folks, is when the shit will get REAL.
> 
> Ugh, gosh, I love you guys so much. Thank you for all of the feedback and I can't wait until the next one!!
> 
> xoxoxoxoxo  
> waxagent


	4. The Killing Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **TW: Intense violence. Reader discretion is VERY HIGHLY advised.**  
>  _

There was a bar only two doors down from the Jade. It was a huge, modern place, dark and a little sexy, and it seemed so out of sorts in Derry that Eddie felt disoriented walking into it. 

“Neutral ground, still?” Richie whispered into Eddie’s hair. Eddie nodded, wrapping his arms around Richie’s waist. Richie tilted his chin up and they kissed slowly, tenderly, with Richie’s thumb rubbing a gentle circle into Eddie’s chin. “I’ll protect you, baby,” he murmured. “Say it.”

“You’ll protect me,” Eddie repeated. He looked up at Richie, brushing their noses together. “We’ll protect each other.”

Richie smiled. “Bingo bango.” He straightened up and they followed the other Losers to a table, snuggling into a booth. Eddie couldn’t help but crack a smile as he watched Richie eyeball the stage in the corner critically. 

“Don’t be at work,” he whispered into Richie’s ear. “Be here. Be with me.” 

“Oooh, but look how bad their sound setup is.”

“Richard.”

“I know, I know,” Richie turned around. He sandwiched Eddie up against the nearest solid surface, which turned out to be a laughing Bill. “God, I love you,” he dipped his head in and kissed Eddie, a little bit too deep to be coy and a little bit too long to be solely comforting. Eddie sighed and parted his lips, tangling one hand into the longish hair on the top of Richie’s head. “Oh, baby, get me fired up.”

“Does this have to happen on top of me?” Bill asked. 

“Yes,” Richie mumbled, grinning against Eddie’s laugh. “We have lost time to keep in account,” he kissed Eddie again. “You know, if it’s turning you on, Billy, I’d be happy to offer a helping ha-“

Eddie giggled and shoved at Richie’s shoulders. Behind him, Bill was laughing and shaking his head. “Behave,” he smiled. Richie scooted back and pulled Eddie into a seated position. Eddie felt warm and oddly safe in the dim lights of the bar, the thrum of the music in his chest, sandwiched between Bill and Richie. Bev, Ben, and Mike slid into the booth across from them with two drinks apiece. Mike handed Bill and Eddie each a vodka tea, and Bev slid a whiskey across the table to Richie. He caught it and stared at it, conflicted. 

“To our health,” Bill said, raising his drink. Everybody followed his lead. While the majority of the Losers drank, Eddie saw Richie spill some of his whiskey over the edge of the booth in lieu of taking a sip. He wrapped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders and kissed his temple.

 _You aren’t weak_ , Eddie wanted to tell him. _You’re brave, you’re so brave, and they’d think the world of you if they knew who you are and what you’ve overcome_. He snuggled into Richie’s side instead, looking up at him, and tried to telegraph his love. Richie kissed his temple again and Eddie felt like maybe he’d understood, somehow. 

“Excuse us, we’re so sorry.” All six of them turned; two women stood at the edge of their table. One wore a Castle Rock Community College hoodie and both of them were staring at Richie with rapt attention. “Are…are you Richie Tozier?”

“Richie who now?” Richie said placidly. Eddie shot him a look, and Richie laughed and held up both of his hands casually. “Guilty, guilty as charged.” 

One of the girls let out a wild little shriek, covering her mouth. The other girl had both hands over her heart. “Oh my god,” she said softly. “Oh my god, I KNEW it was you. I almost didn’t recognize you without your tattoos out--“

“Can we take a picture with you, please?” The other girl asked. “We’re- we’re huge fans, and you don’t ever tour up here.” 

Richie laughed. “Yeah, sure,” he stood up and took off his jacket, baring all of his tattoos, and the girl not wearing the Castle Rock memorabilia made a weird little shrieking sound. “You got a phone?” 

“Yes,” Sweatshirt Girl squeaked. With a shaking hand, she shoved a cracked iPhone at Richie. He took it gently. “You’re…you’re so tall, I just didn’t imagine. Can I hug you?”

“Of course you can- aw,” Richie chuckled and wrapped his arms around his fan. “Thank you. Thanks, I needed a good hug.” He released her and laughed when her friend filled the void instantly, her arms tight around his middle. “Wow, you guys majoring in affection or what? Come on, bring it in.” He held up the phone and took two selfies with them. Eddie smiled at him proudly. “Here you go, don’t let me keep your phone on accident, now.”

“Thank you,” Sweatshirt Girl gasped. “Thank you so much.” She and her friend scampered off, chatting wildly and excitedly, throwing looks back over their shoulders at Richie. 

Richie sat back down. “Aw, hi,” he laughed softly when Eddie wrapped his arms around his shoulders from behind. “Mmn.” He kissed Eddie’s hands. 

“A lucrative position in the music industry,” Mike said, one eyebrow raised. There was a little smile on his lips that suggested that he already knew Richie’s true occupation.

“Lots of paperwork, hm?” Ben sipped his whiskey. “So those ladies; fans of longhand note-taking?”

Richie shrugged. “I might be in a band or something, no big deal--“

“Holy shit,” Bev hissed, standing suddenly. She pointed at Richie. “You’re in Only Revolutions. I recognize that pride tattoo! Oh my god! You’re in Only FUCKING Revolutions!” Richie grimaced and rubbed the back of his head. 

“Bevvie--“

“And you’re sitting over here, flipping your lid over MY books?” Bill gaped at Richie like he’d never seen him before. “I own every single one of your albums, Richie! You’ve won Grammys!”

“It’s nothing. Eddie, tell them--“

“I’m not telling them shit,” Eddie smiled. “I’m proud of you. It’s okay to be proud of yourself, too.”

Richie pouted. “I just don’t want this to affect any of your opinions on me, you know, when we’re boning down tonight. Don’t let this set up some set of crazy expectations. Listen, Eddie can vouch for my marathon ability, but I’m only working with a normal, albeit exceptionally nice, mortal dick, no godly prowess, just lots of skill and effort--“

Eddie slid his hands off of Richie’s shoulders. “Everybody gets it, Rich, your dick is huge,” he sighed, grabbing a sip of his vodka tea, and trying with very little success to hide his smile. “Quit grandstanding.” 

“You all heard him,” Richie preened. “My dick is huge.”

“I’m sorry, but I think you’re missing the point--“

“Is the “point” referring to my penis, or--“

“No, Richie, lord, why didn’t you tell us--“

“I’m pretty sure I’ve been talking about my dick for a VERY long time, despite what I can and can’t remember--“

“About your BAND, Richie, your BAND--“

“About my hand? I don’t need to use it that much anymore, Benny, I have Eddie for all that--“

“Just like old times?” Mike grinned at Eddie from across the table. 

“Mostly,” Eddie smiled back. “Cheers.” He tapped glasses with Mike. 

“You have to sing something for us, Rich!” Bev gushed. 

Richie grimaced and waved his hands. His ears were _very_ red. “Ack. No, no, no, see, this is why I didn’t say anything.”

“Richie!”

“Oh, come on, Rich!”

“Eddie,” Richie whined. “Eddie, save me- oh, no, wait; tell you all what. We all live through this and I’ll give you a private concert in my sexiest underwear.”

Bill laughed. “Your sexiest underwear, huh?” He smiled into his drink.

“It’s actually a pair of Eddie’s briefs, black ones, they’re very flattering on me--“

“What?” Eddie asked, alarmed. Richie laughed. “What? Rich, do NOT wear my underwear, that’s disgusting--“

“Come oooon, I’ve come on your face like, a thousand times, how is this--“

“Shut UP, oh my god, shut up, Richie!”

“You know there’s only one way to shut me up for sure, Eds--“

“Shove a dick in your mouth?”

“WOAH! Woah, woah, woah,” Ben sputtered on his drink, laughing. Beside him, Beverly was _hysterical_. She hid her face in her hands while she screeched with laughter. Bill snickered- even Mike was chuckling. “Eddie,” Ben huffed out. “Who knew you had it in you?” 

“Listen, Ben,” Richie smirked. Eddie moaned weakly, embarrassed, and covered his beet red face in his hands. “Eddie has it in him _all_ of the time--“

“Alright!” Eddie hissed, slapping a hand over Richie’s mouth. Richie laughed and pulled Eddie’s hand off, capturing his lips instead. 

“Mm, cute as fuck,” he sang, grinning. “I’m gonna go smoke. Bevvie?”

“I’m trying to quit.”

“Solo man out,” Richie sighed. “Here, one for the road.” He kissed Eddie again. “Love you. Mm.” He kissed him one more time.

“Love you too, baby,” Eddie smiled. He felt warm while he watched Richie go, and caught the kiss that he blew to him.

“Ya’ll are gross,” Bev said fondly. 

“We are so gross,” Eddie said proudly. 

“So it’s been twenty-two years for you, huh?”

“Yes,” Eddie smiled into his drink. “But we’ve only been engaged for two days.” 

“Aw,” Mike smiled. “Congratulations.” Bill reached over and brushed his fingers over the back of Mike’s hand and the other man startled violently. “Oh! God. Sorry, Bill. You spooked me.” 

Bill frowned. He stole back his hand and buried his frown underneath a thin, congenial smile. Eddie imagined it was probably the one that he used at book signings. “S-sorry--“ Bill cut himself off with a sharp snap of his mouth, but they’d all heard it. He’d stuttered. 

The mood changed, like Richie had taken all of the joy outside with him. Mike smiled warily at Bill but he looked exhausted again, like it had taken a tremendous effort to prop himself up in their company for the last few hours. He’d been fighting alone on this front for years, Eddie realized with a nasty shock, and it had obviously taken a toll in many, many ways. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Mike said softly. He cast his eyes up, and Eddie felt color bloom on his cheeks. “Put an end to whatever you’re thinking, and enjoy your night.” The rest of his thought went unsaid, but they all understood it loud and clear: _Enjoy your night because tomorrow, the real work begins. Tomorrow you’ll all be as frightened as children again, maybe more frightened then you’ve ever been. Tomorrow maybe some of you will die--_

“Can I…” Ben started and stopped. Eddie nodded without needing to hear the rest of Ben’s question. He passed Richie’s untouched whiskey over to the other man. Ben took it and slugged it back in one shot. “Thanks. I’ll buy him another one when he gets back.” Eddie shrugged with a weak smile; it was Richie’s story to share, not his. 

“Nobody…” Bill started and trailed off. When he spoke again it was slow and punctuated, every word measured out explicitly. “Nobody’s heard from Stan yet, have they?”

“No,” Mike said. “His plane should have landed hours ago, but I haven’t--”

“We don’t know anything,” Bev interrupted. “We all came. Stan will come.” 

“Bev--“

“He’ll come,” Bev asserted. “I know it. He’ll be here.” 

“Of course he will,” Ben said. He squeezed Beverly’s shoulder. Eddie watched his thumb linger over her for a second too long to be platonic, and he watched Bev look at him with huge eyes and parted lips. He wondered which of their rooms they would end up in tonight. 

“Stan isn’t a coward,” Bill added quietly. “He wouldn’t bail, not if he made a p-p-p- _fuck_ \--“ 

“Quit,” Eddie said. He scooted closer to Bill and rubbed his arm lightly. Bill stared at the table furiously. “Just quit.”

“Easy for you to say,” Bill mumbled. He rubbed his eyes. “What are we doing here?”

“You know--“

“No, at this bar. Like we’re going to die tomorrow as this is our l-last meal, something like--“ 

“Shhh,” Mike soothed. He took Bill’s hand from across the table and ran his fingers over the other man’s. Bill let out a great heaving sigh, his eyes still closed behind his fingers. “Shh, Bill.”

“I made you all promise, and now I’ve walked you back into hell,” Bill opened his eyes and looked at Mike. “And you’ve been here by yourself all this time while I was off getting married and rich, Mikey.” He took Mike’s hand and squeezed it tightly. 

“It’s okay,” Mike said. “Bill, you didn’t know.”

“I missed you and I didn’t even _remember_ \--“ 

“I’m going to go and get another drink,” Ben said hastily. “Bev?”

“Oooh yes, I’m with you.” The two scrambled hastily out of their side of the booth. Mike and Bill looked at Eddie meaningfully and he blanched, scooting back out of his seat. 

“I’ll, uh,” he coughed and pushed up his glasses, bouncing on his feet a little awkwardly. “I’ll go and get Richie.” He turned on his heel and hustled out the front door. 

The nighttime air was cool and refreshing. Eddie sighed, relaxing by miniscule degrees, and ran his hands through his hair. It was late spring and warm enough, but Eddie felt the undercurrent of something sour in the air, some unique Derry quality that didn’t exist in the Pacific Northwest. He whistled to himself, chewing on his thumbnail a little while the sound reverberated in his palms. He looked around; the street was deserted. No smokers. No Richie. No anybody. 

“Richie?” He said softly. Nothing. “Rich? Come on. This isn’t funny.” He heard a crash and a thump and almost jumped out of his skin. His hand flew to the pocket where he kept his inhaler like a gun in a holster and he waited, his eyes darting, too scared to move, suddenly, too scared to run. “Rich?” A wet _splat!_ answered him from the left side of the building. Startled, Eddie rocked on his feet and then crept towards the alleyway, his mind and his heart competing to race faster than each other. 

The gap between the buildings loomed in front of him, long and dark. There was a cluster of dumpsters there, and some knocked over cans. Something messy was scrawled over the walls- graffiti? It was too dark, and Eddie couldn’t tell. He crept in closer, squinting. 

A dark shape hid behind an upturned trashcan, slouched against the wall of the dumpster. Eddie stopped, his heart pounding, and thought about yelling for help, about running back into the bar. He couldn’t. 

Hands shaking, he took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight. He aimed it at the shape and choked out an awful, awful sound, his free hand flying to cover his mouth, tears springing to his eyes.

It was Richie. He had been badly mauled, and his body was bent back and sopping with blood. One of his legs was twisted almost backwards and his long, pale neck was bent at an almost ninety degree angle. The still smoking butt of a cigarette rested on his motionless chest. 

“Oh no, oh my god, oh--“ Eddie surged forward, and the light of the flashlight caught the writing on the wall and it was written in blood, it was written in _Richie’s_ blood--

**_WELCOME HOME, EDS!_ **

Eddie’s scream was thin and soft and too quiet. The light jerked in his hand and fell across Richie’s face and it was that, more than anything, that drove it all home because there was no smile there; there was only clotting blood dripping from Richie’s nose and his mouth and his eyes were open and glassy and _terrified_ in death--

 _Death_ \--

“It took a fight to bring him down, let me tell you,” a gravelly voice croaked from behind Eddie. “Do you have any _pills_ , Eddie, something to bring him back to _health_ , Eddie?” A gnarled, long hand closed over Eddie’s shoulder, vice tight and-- 

_IT WAS HERE IT WAS HERE IT WAS HERE IT WAS RIGHT HERE_

\--this time, Eddie’s scream was earth-shatteringly loud. He screamed, and screamed. Desperate tears welled up in his eyes and blurred over when he wrenched his shoulder out of the iron hand that held him and collapsed forward. He crawled across the alley and grabbed at his lover’s corpse. “Richie, oh no, oh _god_ \--“ 

Richie was firm and cold under his touch and Eddie screamed again, beside himself, and he wailed when he felt hands grab him and haul him back. “NO! No, get away, get away--“

“Eddie! Eddie--“

“Get off of me, PLEASE--“ 

Bill grunted and yanked Eddie backwards. Eddie flailed back, kicking and elbowing, fighting hard against Bill’s grip. “Eddie, please, have sense, it’s not s-safe out here--“

“I DON’T CARE!” Eddie bellowed. He slammed his elbow back and he heard Bill huff out a pained groan, but he was only even vaguely aware of Bill at all; his whole world was dim except the point in the center of his mind that was occupied by Richie’s mangled body. “LET ME GO!” 

He felt a different pair of hands join Bill’s, and then another, and he screeched as he was dragged out of the alley. “Let-let me go, let me go,” he staggered backwards and fell into his friends. He shrieked out a loud, unbelievably mournful cry and covered his face. He came completely undone then, and he felt very distantly like he’d never come back together again, like he was ruined for all time, like nothing--

“Eds?” 

“Don’t, don’t,” he cried, wailing into his hands. 

“Eddie, baby,” he felt his hands wrenched off of his face and Richie was staring at him, his eyes impossibly wide with concern, and all Eddie could see was-

_Richie with his neck snapped, Richie with blood dribbling down his face, Richie with his leg torn almost clean off--_

\--and he screamed again and slapped Richie hard across the face. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” He screamed. He kicked out with one leg and caught Richie in the stomach. He fell back with a grunt and Eddie whirled around, punching out until he connected with somebody. “I HAVE TO GET BACK TO HIM- NO--“ Eddie felt arms seize him from behind him a bear hug and hold him tightly while Bill grabbed his legs. He saw Mike holding his cheek beyond Bill’s shoulder, ducked down. 

“It’s me,” he heard Richie panting against his head. 

“No, n-no--“

“It’s _me_ , I’m here, Eddie, baby.” He could smell Richie, his senses were filled with him; fresh cigarettes and spicy cologne, aftershave and his laundry detergent. He _always_ bought lavender because Richie loved it, Richie liked how it smelled and he loved it when Richie was happy but all he could remember was the glassy look of his dead eyes and it smelled like copper, it smelled like blood--

“Baby,” Richie rocked with him. Eddie shuddered wildly, straining against his arms, but Richie held him tightly. “It’s me, it’s Richie, okay, I’m _fine_. What happened?”

“Y-y-you’re d-dead, you’re d-dea--“

“I am _not_ dead. I’m right here, I’m not dead, I’m not dead--“

Eddie cried and clutched Richie’s hands. They held him back, and Eddie felt his long fingers and the shape of his ring, he ran a finger over the edge of his blunt, chewed nails--

They were Richie’s hands. 

“Oh _god_ \--” Eddie felt his head loll back and he could feel the exact moment when he lost his guard and started to slip off of the razor thin edge of consciousness that he stood on. 

Richie shook him roughly. “No, Eddie, stay with me.”

“R-Rich?”

“It’s me,” Richie cupped his face and Eddie looked back up at him. He started to sob again. “It’s me, I’m here.” 

“What happened?” Eddie startled up against Richie, his eyes wild, but Richie held him tight. Bill was still crouched beside him, both of his hands raised. Mike was beside him and now Ben and Bev were there too, their faces alight with twin expressions of panic. “It’s just me,” Bill said softly. “Eddie it’s j-just me. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real.”

“It, I-I, _Richie_ \--“

“Sunshine, I’m here,” Richie said. He clutched Eddie tightly against his chest. “Oh, Eddie--“

“You’ve got a nasty right hook,” Mike said, cheer forced into the cracks of his tone. Eddie looked up; blood was dribbling down the larger man’s cheek in a slow, steady stream. 

He was silent for a long time, and he didn’t even realize that he was hyperventilating until he felt Richie’s hand in his pocket, felt the plastic mouth of the inhaler against hips lips. Richie depressed the trigger of the little gadget and Eddie felt his lungs engage and open, and breathing came easier to him suddenly. Richie stuffed the inhaler back into his pocket and pressed a hand over Eddie’s heart. It raced underneath his palm.

“Close your eyes,” Richie whispered. Eddie listened and did so, his wet eyelashes brushing his face. “Shhh, okay. Three deep breaths.” Eddie tilted his head back. Inhale exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Okay,” Richie deep voice said, just beside his ear. “Open your eyes and tell me five things that you can see.” 

Eddie opened his eyes. “The bar,” he whispered. He looked up. “Bill. Mike. Ben and Bev.”

“Good, baby, good. Four things you can feel.” 

“Your hands,” Eddie offered immediately. He felt Richie’s fingers thread into his own and squeeze. “The suh-sidewalk. Bill’s hand on my ankle. Your leg.” 

He felt Richie nod. “Three things you can hear.” 

“You, your voice. The music from inside of the bar…the car at the end of the road.”

“Two things you can smell.”

“Cigarettes,” Eddie turned his head. Richie was gazing down at him, a terribly fearful concern painted over his face. “Your cologne.” 

“One thing you can taste,” Richie murmured. 

“My inhaler.”

“You’re grounded?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You’re with me?”

“Yes.”

“Look at me,” Richie large hand cupped the side of Eddie’s face. He pressed their foreheads together, his thumb running circles underneath Eddie’s eye, and Eddie felt himself start to sob anew. “It’s okay, sweet thing, it’s okay.” 

“I thought you were dead, baby,” Eddie hiccupped. Richie kissed away a tear and Eddie cried harder. He felt Bill’s hand release his ankle. “Richie, It… _It_ \--“

“We can’t do this here,” Mike said softly. Eddie felt Richie nod and he nodded too, sniffling. “Eddie…can you walk? We have to go. This isn’t a safe place.” 

* * *

They collected themselves and went back to the Townhouse. Eddie felt the pressure of eyes all around him; sinful, nasty, bloodthirsty things. His inhaler didn’t leave his fist for the whole journey. He felt weak with fear and noxious anger and stupid, so stupid. The unreality of the situation laid heavily on his shoulders like a mantle that he never asked to wear. 

Richie was strong and constant by his side, eerily silent, his arm tight around Eddie’s shoulders. Bev’s hand was laced with his on his other side. Bill, Mike and Ben walked in front of them, shoulders brushing, alert and as ready as they could possibly be. They left no stragglers, and nobody walked on the fringe of their companionship. Eddie’s episode in the alley was a warning as big and as bold as it could possibly get: GO ALONE, YOU DIE. LEAVE IF YOU WANT TO LIVE. GET OUT OF DERRY, LEAVE ME BE, AND I WILL LET YOU ALL GO HOME. 

They walked into the Townhouse and looked at each other vacantly, expressing everything while saying nothing. 

“I think that we shouldn’t be alone,” Bill said. “Nobody.” He turned to Mike with a frown. “You can’t go back to the farm.”

“The farm isn’t in Derry--“

“I don’t care,” Bill cut in. Mike glared at him, suddenly, and Eddie felt the air trickling out of his lungs. He took a subdued hit off of his inhaler and tried to focus on the way that Richie’s thumb pressed against the very edge of his collarbone. 

“Listen,” Mike said, his voice soft but very firm. “I’ve been here this whole time. I can handle myself.” 

Bill straightened himself up and opened his mouth. 

“Mike,” Ben said softly, effectively interrupting whatever Bill had been about to say. “I don’t like the idea of you having to cut through Derry to get to your farm, by yourself, at night. Whatever you’ve been here through…things are different now. You’re smart enough to see that--“

“We have a king size bed!” Richie blurted out. Everybody stopped and stared at him, odd expressions across all of their faces. “Because there are two of us staying together. You can…you can all--“

“Stay with us,” Eddie finished for him, his voice hoarse. He looked up at Mike. “Please. At least let me fix up your cheek.”

Mike softened. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his injury. “I don’t have anything to stay the night, and I won’t fit your--“

“We’ll find you something,” Ben said firmly. “What number are you two in?”

“308.”

“Mike, come with me,” Ben said. His usually soft, sweet tone was curt. “And Bev,” she raised her eyebrows and he quailed a little bit, smiling timidly at her. It seemed as though he couldn’t tell _her_ what to do. “Would you mind going with Bill? Make pit stops and--“

“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” Bev squeezed Ben’s elbow. “Bill Denbrough,” she stuck out her elbow and batted her eyelashes, and some of the stress between the six of them diffused. “Would you escort a lady to her dressing chambers?” 

Bill laughed. “It would be my honor,” he said. He slipped his arm through Beverly’s. “I’d like to warn you, though, I have a three date rule.”

Bev laughed. “Billy, you absolute scoundrel,” she purred. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “We break? And reconvene in, oh--“

“Twenty minutes?” Ben suggested. Beverly turned her smile on him and he went pink. 

“Perfect.” She said, and sauntered off with Bill. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Richie pulled Eddie even closer. They walked up the stairs and into their room, and Eddie felt Richie catch him around the waist as soon as his knees went weak. “I’m so sorry,” Richie whispered in a wild rush. He dropped to his knees and Eddie followed suit. They held each other tightly, their foreheads pressed together and their eyes locked. “I should never have left you alone--“

“You didn’t know, baby--“

“And that’s my fault too, I SHOULD have known.”

“No,” Eddie said. His voice was strong. He cupped Richie’s face. “Nothing that happens here is your fault. It’s…it’s this town, it isn’t you, it isn’t me. It isn’t us.” Richie looked back at him silently, his eyes lost and sad, and Eddie felt rocked to his core with the urge to tear Derry apart with his own two hands. “It isn’t us,” he repeated. “Any of us.”

“You didn’t tell us what you saw,” Richie murmured. He leaned into Eddie’s hands. “Do you want to?”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut. “It was awful,” he choked over the words. “ _Terrible_. You, dead, _brutalized_ , and the-the Leper did it, it had you and then it came for _me_ \--“

“I’m sorry. Don’t,” Richie said. He pulled Eddie even closer and dipped his head in, laving his lips over the fluttering pulse point in Eddie’s neck. “ _Don’t_ , Eds. It wasn’t real. I’m sorry I asked.” 

“It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” Eddie mumbled. His eyes were burning again, but he had no more tears in him. “I couldn’t go on if you died,” he added, unbearable softness in his tone. Richie tilted a series of firmer kisses up the sharp line of his jaw and over his lips. “I felt like I-I’d died too--“

“Shhh,” Richie sighed, pressing his lips over Eddie’s. Eddie felt his hands being guided off of Richie’s face and towards his hair, and he held on there, his hands wound into the thick strands that he adored, while Richie kissed him over and over. “You go on,” Richie insisted softly. Eddie furrowed his brows and looked at his fiancé. “You go on, okay?” Richie repeated. “If _anything_ happens to me, you go on.”

“Richie, _no_ \--“

“Promise me, baby,” Richie tone was so even and sure, his hands like lifelines on Eddie’s back. “Eddie, you have to promise me. I love you. I adore you. Promise me that if this thing takes me, you’ll go on.” 

“I couldn’t,” Eddie said. 

“That isn’t what I want to hear. It’ll…it’ll feel like you can’t. And then it’ll get easier.”

“Who made you such a fucking expert?” Eddie asked. 

Richie laughed softly against his mouth. “Isn’t that what happens in The Notebook?”

“The Notebook isn’t fucking real, and nothing close to this happened--”

“But it’s your favorite movie.”

“It’s in my top three,” Eddie admitted. This was a conversation that they could be having in Seattle, on the floor in any room, loving each other so deeply that it hurt, knowing every single thing about each other. “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

“To go on, I mean.”

“I know, honey--“

“--if you try not to die,” Eddie opened his eyes. Richie was looking back at him, and Eddie saw the man, then, through the scope of his whole past and every second of his future. “Don’t die,” he begged. Richie nodded. “Say it.”

“I won’t die,” he promised. He pressed an insistent kiss to Eddie’s bottom lip. “I won’t die. Not in Derry. Not until you’ve been my husband for at least fifty years and we have, like, two kids, five grandkids, and at least one great-grandkid.”

Eddie huffed out a watery laugh. “Good,” he said, wiping his face. “Tell me another one.”

“I want to wear a white tux at our wedding, so we have to get married before labor day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Richie started kissing at Eddie’s cheeks, and Eddie belatedly realized that he was crying again. Richie didn’t bring any attention to it, but he did tug Eddie’s sweater over his shoulders. “And I want my shirt to be floral; black, green, and pink.”

“That’s garish.”

“That’s style, maybe you’ve heard of her,” Richie quipped. Eddie laughed again, stronger this time, and helped Richie lift off his t-shirt. Instead of throwing it aside, he pulled it on over his head. Richie ran his hands over Eddie’s back, smoothing down the wrinkled fabric. “You look beautiful.” He helped Eddie stand up and unbuckled his belt. They shucked their pants and changed; Richie threw on a white t-shirt and sweat pants, and Eddie threw on a pair of basketball shorts underneath Richie’s loud floral tee, which he clung to. They didn’t say much, but they touched each other at every chance they could. It was reassuring to Eddie in every conceivable way; Richie was alive, Richie was alive, Richie was alive.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “That thing with Bill.” Richie looked at him, and Eddie took his hands. “I tried to sleep with him.” He flushed and looked down, shame eating away at his insides. “When we lived together. It was right before he left for England, and…I was a little drunk. But I would have, if he’d let me.”

Richie was silent for a moment, but Eddie could feel the intensity of his gaze. Eventually, he looked up to meet his eyes. “That was hard to tell me, yeah?” Richie asked kindly. Eddie nodded. “Eddie, I forgave you for all of that ages ago.”

“But you didn’t--“

“It’s just a new memory. It’s not like you tried to fuck him last night. Aw, come here,” Richie pulled Eddie into his arms, squeezing him. “It’s not important and it’s not new. But thanks for telling me.”

“Okay,” Eddie nodded. “Okay.”

Mike and Ben showed up at their door after only fifteen minutes. They knocked and then showed themselves in, both in sweatpants, both very tense. “Hey, ya’ll,” Ben said. 

“Ya’ll,” Richie said from across the room, both eyebrows raised. “ _Y’all_.”

Ben blanched. “I live in Texas, Richie.” 

“Y’ALL,” Richie shouted, shaking his head and walking into the bathroom. “Y’all, Haystack, fuck me.” 

“No, thanks,” Ben said politely. “Your mother, though, if she’s available?”

Mike snorted, shaking his head and laughing. “How’re you feeling, Eddie?”

Eddie nodded absently. “I’m okay.” He walked over to Mike and the much taller man leaned in dutifully; Eddie examined his bruised cheek with a scowl. “I’m so sorry, Mikey. I…I guess I got you pretty good.” 

“You hit like a freight train--“

The door squeaked open behind them as Bill and Bev let themselves in. Bill was smiling sheepishly, a pair of wire-framed glasses perched low on his nose, and Bev looked incredibly cozy in a flannel pajama set. 

“Bevvie, baby,” Richie called from the bathroom. “That you and Bill?”

“Yep!”

“Billiam, wanna come in here and help me shake off?”

“Sure,” Bill laughed. “Why not? Can you still hold the full thing between two fingers?”

“Ruuuuuuude,” Richie whined from the bathroom. Eddie heard him washing his hands and then he was practically jumping out of the bathroom, his arms wide. He expected Richie to fly towards one of their friends, but he scooped Eddie up instead, raining kisses down over his cheeks and nose. 

“Ack,” Eddie laughed in spite of himself, shoving at the larger man. “Let me go, I have to get Mike patched up.” Richie pouted and rubbed his cheek against Eddie’s shoulder. 

“I’ll only let you go if you promise that you’ll spoon with ME tonight, not any of these other beefcakes.”

“I don’t know, Bev is an AWFULLY appealing beefcake.”

Bev grinned, her hands on her hips. “I’m a great big spoon.” 

Richie fell to his knees. Eddie held onto his shoulders with a squeak. “How can I compete with all of that?”

Eddie hummed. He worked his hands up Richie’s neck, thumbing over his incredibly sharp jaw. “Go hang on somebody else, I’m fine,” he said softly. “I owe Mike a fixing up, and Bill a heavy apology- and you…” He traced Richie’s abnormally flushed left cheek; he could practically still see the imprint of his own hand. “Baby--“

“Shhh,” Richie murmured. He kissed Eddie’s wandering fingers delicately. “No, no, no. Don’t do all that.”

“I--“

“Number one, I’m happy you’re on our team,” Richie said sagely. He stood up, pulling Eddie with him. “And number two, I didn’t hate it. Let’s incorporate it into our bedroom play.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. “Freak. Come on, Mikey. Oh- hang on,” he stepped out of Richie’s reach and went back to their suitcase, digging around. He pulled out a well-loved first aid kid, big enough to hold two medical textbooks. “Alright, come with me to the bathroom.” 

Eddie bustled Mike ahead of him. He set the first aid kit onto the ledge of the sink and opened it, poking around thoughtfully. “Okay, sit down.” He pulled on gloves and set out a swab, rubbing alcohol, antibiotic ointment, gauze, and tape. He heaved out a sigh, turning to look at Mike. “Michael, I am _so_ sorry.” He ran a thumb under the man’s cut cheek, examining it critically.” 

“All forgiven,” Mike chuckled. “Can I ask you an honest question?”

“Of course.”

“Where the hell did you learn to hit like that? Kickboxing?”

Eddie smiled. “Kickboxing,” he agreed quietly. He saturated the cotton swab in alcohol. “And yoga, self-defense and running. This is going to sting,” he brushed the damp cotton over Mike’s cheekbone. To his credit, the man barely flinched, though he did make a belligerent face. “I started working out with Richie years ago and got serious about it on my own, maybe six or seven years back. It’s nice to not…to not feel weak, or sick.” 

“You’ve never been weak _or_ sick.” 

“Tell that to my brain,” Eddie mumbled. He smeared a gentle fingertip’s worth of ointment over Mike’s cheek. 

“I don’t need to- you already have.” 

“Not tonight,” Eddie said. He rubbed the thick goo in, working in small circles. “Not when it mattered.”

“Eddie, it’s okay to be afraid. It’s natural and human. I mean, I act calm, but I’m in absolute mortal terror,” Mike smiled, but Eddie only stared at him. His hand shook on Mike’s cheek. “Eddie,” Mike took his hand gently. “It’s okay--“

“I’m not afraid,” Eddie whispered. “I mean, yes, I’m scared. I’m terrified. But...it’s…I’m _angry_ , Mike. I’m livid. I’m furious. Look at me, I’m so mad that I’m shaking.” Mike looked up at Eddie’s face, a startled look in his eyes. Eddie met his gaze and was silent, and he saw that Mike understood. “I’m going to kill that thing,” he whispered. “I’m going to rip it apart.”

Mike cupped Eddie’s face gently and Eddie leaned in and brushed his lips over Mike’s uninjured cheek. They slid their arms around each other and held on gently. “I missed you,” Mike said roughly. “I missed you all so much, Eddie. I hate that this is happening, but you’re all just back in my life and I’m so…I’m so _grateful_. I know that makes me an awful person, but I can’t help it.” 

“Mikey,” Eddie kissed his uninjured cheek again, and again. He snapped off his gloves and held the taller man tightly. Mike’s shoulders were shaking. “Oh, Mike. I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m being an idiot,” Mike laughed thickly. He nudged Eddie’s arms off of him gently and wiped a hand down his face. Frowning, Eddie handed him a piece of toilet tissue; Mike took it and wiped his eyes. “I’d rather have you all out there in the world, safe and--“

“Do you want to be my best man?” Eddie asked suddenly. Mike stared at him, his eyes wet and wide. 

“Um. I’m sorry, what?”

“Richie and I are-are getting married. I’m thinking next summer or early fall- apparently he wants to wear white, so it has to be before Labor Day, so are you…will you be free around then? To be my best man, I’m, I guess…I need one, and I’d love it to be you.”

Mike just stared at Eddie. He nodded, and he opened his mouth to say something. They hugged instead. When they parted, Mike wiped his eyes over one more time. Eddie soothed a square of gauze over his cheek and taped it in place, very gently. “As good as new,” Eddie said. Mike smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. Eddie smiled back thinly and stood up, cleaning his supplies. “Go on out, I’m going to wipe everything down.”

Mike stood and dropped a kiss onto Eddie’s hair. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome.” Eddie watched Mike go. He closed the door gently behind the other man. He clutched the edge of the sink and huffed out several deep breaths. He stayed that way for several minutes until his hands stopped shaking. Then he cleaned up his mess, snapped his first aid kit shut, and went out to join his friends. 

They were in a sweet pile on the bed. Richie gazed up at him and they shared a long, knowing look. Eddie hustled into bed and clambered onto Richie’s lap. He tucked his head against the taller man’s chest and felt lulled by the sound of the steady beat of his heart. 

He felt hands running through his hair- Beverly’s- and Richie’s large hands supporting his lower back. He looked up to see Bill’s face, his head resting on Richie’s shoulder. Mike was just behind Bill; Eddie watched Bill reach back and thread their hands together, and Mike bowed his head to rest against Bill’s. He couldn’t see Ben- he must have been sitting behind him, with Beverly, and that alone felt right and good. Eddie looked up at Richie and Richie kissed his forehead. 

“So,” Richie said. His voice was soft, but it carried. “This is giving me, like, a _ton_ of feelings. Who wants to talk about literally anything?” Bill laughed. “C’mon Billy. Ben. Anybody. Eddie, let’s talk about cars.”

“I’m too tired to talk about cars.”

“Yowza, that’s a fucking first.”

“Can’t we just be like this?” Bill asked. “Does it have to be a spectacle?”

“I’m a spectacle in a very dashing human suit,” Richie sighed, but he sunk deeper into the bed nonetheless, at the exact midway point of his friends. “This is nice, though, a guy’s gotta admit, but when do the pants come off--“

“Beep beep, Richie,” Beverly murmured. Eddie hummed underneath her gentle touch, rubbing his face into Richie’s chest. He felt nimble fingers pluck off his glasses and his eyelids fluttered open. Bill smiled at him, and Eddie watched him set both of their glasses on the nightstand. 

“Thanks, Billy.”

“Anytime.”

“So cute,” Richie cooed. “So fucking sweet.” He shuffled down even farther, stroking Eddie’s back in tandem with Beverly’s attentions to his hair, and Eddie felt his eyes slip closed again. He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to Richie’s chest. “Love you, Sunshine.”

“Love you too, Rich,” he murmured, settling in. “I love you all.”

Eddie felt himself drifting off. He didn’t know who turned off the lights or who tugged up the quilts, but he felt soothed and oddly safe as he drifted in and out of sleep in the comforting circle of his best friends. 

It felt like several hours later when he felt Richie jerk awake underneath him. “Wha--“

“Shhh,” Richie cautioned, slipping his hand over Eddie’s mouth. Eddie could feel the tension in the room- he saw the dim light of the streetlights shining through the window over Bill’s narrowed, crystalline glare. He watched Mike sit up and drop off of the side of the bed in near silence, standing, looking back and forth from the bed to the door of the room. He startled when he heard a thumping knock at the door, sitting bolt upright on Richie’s lap and tearing his fiancé’s hand off of his mouth. 

They were all awake now and staring at the door. There was another knock, faster this time, more insistent. 

Richie slid Eddie off of his lap and climbed over Bill, oddly graceful and silent. He pressed his hand onto Mike’s chest and nudged him back, shooting him a silent look. “Coming,” he said, in a surprisingly calm voice. “Just one second.” He held a hand back and Mike slipped something thick and dense into it. Richie looked at the proffered weapon and then shot Mike a flat, dull look. Mike shrugged.

“Be very quiet,” Richie whispered. “And stay still.” He crept towards the door, the tension palpable around him. He raised his makeshift weapon in one hand and flung the door open with the other. He faltered, his eyes comically wide, and dropped the weapon- some sort of book- and it hit the carpet with a muffled thump. “Holy shit,” Richie whispered. “Holy fucking shit.” Beside Eddie, Bill looked pale and shocked. He heard Beverly hold back a sharp gasp.

Richie stepped back from the door and Stan Uris stepped into the room after him. He looked desperately tired and travel worn, his kippah pinned crookedly on the back of his head, pressed down over his short hair. “I’m sorry,” he said roughly, looking over all of them. “I-I know that I’m late. I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, yeah, Mr. King- uh, can I call you Stephen? No? Okay, so Mr. King. Sit down. Here, take my chair. Let's have a talk about how you did Stan Uris dirty. 
> 
> The reader response to this so far has been OVERWHELMING for me. Thank you all so, so much, God, I don't even know where to begin. I am ceaselessly grateful to each and every one of you that takes the time to write me something. It motivates me more than you could ever know!
> 
> Time for some headcanons!:
> 
> -Yes, Mike is a farmer, still. If you subtracted Pennywise and his effect over Derry from the equation, Mike lives a lovely, albeit lonely, life. Most of the foods that he eats, he's grown or made himself. Salads made from his crop, bread that he makes while listening to the radio; my man makes his own fucking tofu. He reads constantly, and doesn't own a TV. He had started to forget, but when he graduated college and moved back to Derry, it all came back to him. He's kept meticulous records and kept tabs on all of the other Losers, just in case. 
> 
> -Doctor Eddie Kaspbrak's self defense seminars are the stuff of U Washington legend. He used to bring in Jesse and Richie as collaborators; his students loved watching somebody Eddie's size disarm and flip somebody Richie's size (6'2" and 187lbs) and ESPECIALLY somebody Jesse's size (6'6" and 245lbs). Eddie thought this would be great at first; then people started turning up JUST to see the band, and Eddie had to uninvite them from future seminars. 
> 
> There's nothing hotter to Richie than Eddie after a good workout; he was VERY disappointed after he was disallowed from the self defense sessions. 
> 
> -Richie uses humor to deflect like it's going out of style. Everytime something is too serious or too intense, he feels like a well timed dick joke will do its part to hide his feelings. He actually does it less now than when he was younger- but in Derry, he finds himself slipping back into old habits. 
> 
> -Stan didn't board two flights from Atlanta to Boston-Logan, and it took everything in him to get on the third one; but more on that later on.
> 
> SO I think we're all set here, for now :) The next chapter will be up within the week, hopefully. 
> 
> Drop me headcanon requests for this 'verse or questions or ANYTHING at @waxagent on tumblr, GAWRSH, I love hearing from ya'll, and be sure to let me know what you think. 
> 
> xoxoxoxo  
> waxagent


	5. Rock Me Amadeus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER TW: Moments of horror and violence, homophobic language.

“Stan,” Richie breathed out. His eyes were wide and a smile was blossoming over his face, as huge and as bright as the scurrying dawn. “ _Stanley_.”

Stan nodded, a curt little expression on his face, his eyes wandering over all of them in their messy pile on the bed. His shoulders were squared. He licked his bottom lip, nodded again, and reached his hand out to Richie for a shake; Richie slapped the hand away and yanked him in for a tight hug. Stan went rigid in Richie’s embrace, and then he closed his eyes and threw his arms around the other man, sinking to the floor with him. Richie was whispering something in Stan’s ear and Stan was still nodding, clutching at Richie’s shoulders, his face and his shoulders and his whole entire demeanor relaxing more and more in every instant. 

Eddie and Ben were next; Ben jumped off of the edge of the bed while Eddie vaulted over Beverly’s legs. They reached the other two men at the same time, and Ben wrapped his arms around Stan’s back just as Richie snapped Eddie up, yanking him in between his chest and Stan’s. Eddie turned and hugged Stan singularly, tightly, burying his face into his neck. “Stan,” he whispered. “Oh, _Stan_.” 

“You’re all here--“ Stan started, and then grunted. Bev had shot into them next, attaching herself to Richie’s back like a koala, and Mike and Bill weren’t far behind. The seven of them stayed like that for what felt like a long, long time, huddled in a ball of limbs and whispering on the floor in the open doorway. It was strong. 

“Let me up,” Stan said eventually. His voice was strained, but there was laughter in it. “Richie, you’re- you’re all fucking crushing me, let me get up.” 

“No,” Richie said. “Never, never ever in my whole life, I have you all right where I want you--“

“Shh,” Eddie tilted his head back and kissed Richie’s chin. When he righted himself, Stan was staring at him with one brow raised. “I don’t want to explain it again,” he huffed out, his face going red. “Richie and I are still together, we’re engaged, deal with it.”

Stan snorted. “Refreshing,” he said, drily. “Missed you too, Eddie.” 

“Come on, let the man up,” Ben said. He backed off of Stan and pulled him away from Richie, gently ignoring Richie’s grabby hands. “Could somebody grab the light?”

“Don’t ask me for any favors,” Richie grumbled, and stood up anyway. Bev, laughing, was still firmly attached to his back. He walked with her over to the other side of the door and flipped the switch, bathing the room in a calm, yellow glow. “Damn, Stan, you look terrible.” 

Stan scowled. “Quiet in the cheap seats. The very, very cheap seats; are you wearing _joggers_? You’re supposed to be forty, not eighteen.” 

Richie smiled, shark-wide and hungry. “Oooh, Stanny bites. Well, you look just about as old as the dirt underneath this here building.”

Stan smirked back at him, undoing the buttons on his jacket. He was wearing khakis and a light blue polo, and he looked remarkably non-descript. “As old are your jokes about Eddie’s mom going down on your dick.” He made a vulgar motion with both of his hands and Richie squealed, bouncing up and down and clapping his hands. 

“Why?” Eddie groaned, his arms crossed. “Why, Stanley? You know, those were inappropriate before but now they’re EXCEPTIONALLY weird because she’s going to be his mother in law some--mmph!” 

“Forbidden fruit,” Richie said solemnly, his hand clapped over an absolutely fuming Eddie’s mouth. “is the _sweetest_ fruit.”

“Pardon me for interrupting all of this- well, whatever this is,” Bill laughed. Richie stepped aside for him immediately, and he and Stan looked at each other for a soft, quiet heartbeat. Stan extended his hand, then, and the contract of their new relationship seemed set and established; Bill smiled, and took the other man’s palm against his own, shaking it. “It’s really nice to see you.”

“Likewise, of course,” Stan said softly. “Where’s Mike--“

“Here,” Mike said. 

“Mikey,” Stan said, and something had warmed in his expression. He looked back and forth between Bill and Mike once, smiling and fond. “You both…you both look great.”

“What a charming liar,” Mike said. He bent down and picked up the book that Richie had dropped. 

“Yeah, Mikey, I have a bone for you--“

“Richie, that’s not the expression--“

“Shhh,” Richie slid the hand that wasn’t covering Eddie’s mouth over Bill’s, pressing both men close to his chest. “You gave me a soft cover, hotel issue bible as a weapon.”

“Yes, I did- and?”

“How am I supposed to defend all of my princes and my princess with that--“

“You’re the one that went to the door, man--“

“Because I thought you had my back, and alas--“

“Richie,” Mike said sweetly. “Go barehanded next time if you’re gonna be this way.”

Richie smiled sweetly. “I’ll try my luck bare knuckle boxing the fuck outta that clown.” 

“Richard--“

“Oh you don’t get to talk yet,” Richie said. He let go of Eddie and Bill and in one breath, his arms were pinned tightly around Stan again. 

“Richie--“

“We were worried,” Mike said softly. “Where were you?”

Stan blanched. Eddie saw his fingers dig into Richie’s t-shirt. “I missed my flight,” he said. 

“You missed your flight for over twenty-four hours?”

“I--“

“It doesn’t matter,” Bill insisted. He laid a hand on Mike’s bicep. “He’s here now.”

“I’m here now,” Stan repeated. “Even though I’d rather be anywhere else in the whole world.” 

“Come on, come on, I’m not THAT bad,” Richie chuckled. Gently, he guided Stan up and on to the bed. The other Losers joined them one by one. “So, when you’re not here fighting Satan-spawn, Stanny, what are you up to?”

“I’m a veterinarian with a practice in Ann Arbor,” Stan said. 

“Ann Arbor,” Bev smiled. “I love it there. Gosh, beautiful in the fall.”

Stan shot her a wan smile. “I do too. I’ve been there for over ten years now, it’s great.” 

“I live in Chicago,” Beverly leaned up behind Stan. She unpinned his kippah and handed it to Ben, who set it aside. She went about the task of working her fingers through Stan’s hair; he had shorn his curls, but the short strands were a deep brown, soft and exceptionally clean. He didn’t have a single grey hair that Eddie could see. His green eyes, while exhausted and a little frightened, were alert. 

“What kind of animal medicine do you practice? “ Mike asked, absolutely sincere in his curiosity. 

“All kinds, but my predominant field and focus is surgery, on large animals specifically,” Stan sighed. “Bev, that’s really nice.”

“You look like you need to relax and sleep,” Bev hummed. “I can oblige with the relaxation.”

“Why are we all in here, anyway?” Stan asked. “When I got here and asked at the desk, they gave me all different room numbers. I just came to this one first.”

“We had…” Ben started, and then hesitated. He looked at Eddie, unsure of how to finish. 

“We had a run in,” Eddie said quietly. “We decided that we shouldn’t be alone.” 

“Is everybody okay?”

“Everybody’s fine,” Richie said softly. He pulled Eddie into his arms and kissed the top of his head. “We’re all fine. All still standing.” Eddie felt a violent shudder run through him like an electric shock, and he held one of Richie’s hands tightly. 

“So what do we do now?” Stan asked softly. They looked around at each other with trepidation, silent for a long time, until Bill set the bible that Richie had dropped back into the nightstand with a thump. They all looked at him and he stared at each of them in turn, his eyes radiantly bright in the lukewarm glow of the room. 

“We go to sleep,” Bill said. “When we wake up tomorrow, Mike can fill us in and we can decide what to do. When we decide what to do, we do it, and be-b-be-be--“ he slammed his fist on the nightstand and took several, long, deep breaths. “Since we’re all here, all together,” he continued with intense gravity. “We’ll _win._ ” 

* * *

Eddie woke up to the feeling of Richie’s body pressed against his back, his long limbs wrapped impossibly tight around him. He shifted and heard Richie shush him, and felt the taller man press his nose just under Eddie’s ear. “Don’t open your eyes yet,” Richie whispered. “Pretend for two seconds you’re in bed in Seattle.” He rubbed a long hand over Eddie’s stomach in soothing, circular motions. “It’s Sunday. We’re gonna go see a movie in an hour.” 

“And you’re dragging ass,” Eddie rasped. He listened and didn’t open his eyes- the fantasy of their normal lives was so, so tempting. “What are we seeing? Nothing scary.”

“Aww. I already bought tickets to The Conjuring 2, baby.”

“Well, you didn’t ask, and I want to see Me Before You.” 

“So we’ll do a double feature. I made you pancakes, too, but I burned them.”

“Edible, still?”

“Lord, no,” Richie said right away, and Eddie had to stifle a laugh. “I’ll take you out for breakfast instead. A diner?”

“A coffee shop.” He sighed and snuggled back into Richie. “Diner food is too greasy.”

“Coffee shop it is. Two movies. Then let’s do some wedding planning.”

“Mmm,” Eddie melted with a happy sound. “Yes, perfect, absolutely. Richie, I love you.”

“I love you too, Sunshine, so much,” he squeezed Eddie, and kissed his cheek. “My little Sunshine,” he whispered. Eddie opened his eyes. 

Their little room in the corner of the Derry Townhouse was jam packed with seven grown adults inside of it. Eddie sat up slowly and Richie settled his head into his lap, sighing when Eddie automatically started stroking his hair. Stan was still sleeping beside him on the bed and Ben was just coming awake on Richie’s other side. Mike, Bev, and Bill were crouched over the little coffee table by the window, speaking over a batch of spread out photographs in low tones. There was a strange mist over them, and Eddie saw the source; Bev was taking incessant puffs on Richie’s vape. 

“Trying to quit, huh,” Richie laughed. He wiggled out of Eddie’s lap, kissing him quickly- his missed his aim of Eddie’s mouth by two inches or so, his smooch landing somewhere in the vicinity of Eddie’s cheek- and clambered out of bed with a grunt and a stumble. He blinked, blinked again, and rubbed his eyes vigorously. 

“Sorry,” Bev grinned. She held out Richie’s vape. He grabbed for it and missed by a good six inches. “Um,” Beverly blinked and moved the pen into Richie’s open hand. “Here, tiger.” Eddie frowned, slipping his glasses on; the few inches of Beverly’s wrist that were revealed when she held out her arm were ringed with bruises. 

But Richie didn’t seem to see. He was still frowning and rubbing his eyes when he lifted the vape to his mouth, grunting out a little thankful sound. 

“Sleep too hard?” Bill asked him. 

“My eyes just…I dunno.” Richie blinked owlishly. His eyes were already puffy and a little bloodshot from the way he’d been pawing at them. “Nothing. Slept too hard, yeah.” He stumbled towards the bathroom and let out a sharp gasp when he stubbed his toe on the edge of the bed. “Jesus _fuck_ \--“ 

“Rich,” Eddie sat up even farther, frowning. “You okay?” But Richie just waved him off and shut himself in the bathroom. 

Eddie’s frown deepened, and he jumped when he felt a hand close over his knee. It was Stan’s left hand- he had long fingers, meticulously clean nails, and a thick gold wedding band around his fourth finger. 

“You’re married, huh?” Eddie asked. He lifted Stan’s left hand in both of his own, twirling his friend’s ring. 

“For over eight years,” Stan said, yawning. 

“Tell me about him,” Eddie said. It felt important; he laid back down across from Stan, their hands still laced together. 

Stan shrugged a little, but there was a soft, warm edge to his smile. He played with Eddie’s fingers. “His name’s Patrick, Patrick Blum-Uris--“

“So you hyphenated?” Stan raised one eyebrow at him and Eddie shrugged. “I’m engaged, it’s a relevant interest.”

“Yes, we did. We own the practice together, met in graduate school in Atlanta and moved up to Michigan when we graduated.” Eddie could see all of the little details hiding just behind the veil of Stan’s carefully constructed mask of calm- who liked which movies, what Patrick’s favorite flavor of ice cream was, what their house looked like and what their life felt like- but it all stayed locked away, unexplained. Stan’s eyes were dark and the set of his mouth was grim. 

“I couldn’t tell him,” Stan continued. “I just told him I…that I had to go. And he didn’t understand,” he rubbed a hand over his face. “Of course he didn’t, a childhood promise? That’s all I could say. We had a terrible fight, and I left while he was sleeping.” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said. “I can’t imagine.”

“No,” Stan said softly. “You can’t. Richie’s here.”

“That isn’t exactly a good thing,” Eddie let go of Stan’s hand and sat up. The other man followed suit. “I’d give anything to have him three thousand miles away and safe.” 

“Sorry,” Stan said, and he looked it. He slid off of the bed and walked over to the bathroom. “Richie!” He pounded on the door. “Come on.”

“Just a minuuuuute!” Richie cooed back in a high falsetto tone. He opened the door and slid his arms around Stan’s neck, sighing. His face was wet and the front of his hair was damp. “You may come inside,” he purred, rubbing his cheek against Stan’s. “If you dare.”

Stan snorted, gently trying to pry himself away from Richie. “At least you wash your fucking face now. Adulthood is good for you.” 

“Eddie gets this wild facewash, and I like the way it smells,” Richie huffed, affronted. Eddie watched him skirt his hand over the doorframe and use it to guide himself out of Stan’s way. “I’m sure he’d let you use it, Stanny, if you ask very nicely.”

“Don’t just give away my facewash,” Eddie griped. He shook Ben’s shoulder gently. “Ben? Hey.” 

“I’m up,” Ben groaned. He rolled over and sat up, stretching. “You’re sharing your facewash? Excellent.” 

“It’s really expensive and I have to special order it,” Eddie said firmly. “If you’re going to use it, just use a very, very small amount.” 

“That’s all that you need,” Richie said sweetly, like he’d heard Eddie say the same thing to him a million times and could repeat it by rote. “Just a ‘pea-sized’ drop.”

“Shut up Richie,” Eddie said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He walked over to Richie and smiled a little when the man leaned in for a kiss. “Are you okay?”

“Top of the charts,” Richie said. “You? How’re you feeling?”

“Better, today. Hungry,” he looked around. “Is anybody ready for breakfast?” 

“We can probably order in,” Mike mused. “Eat here and debrief. Eddie, want to go down with me and arrange?”

“Why me?”

“You were the first one to mention food,” Bev grinned. 

“You know the old rules,” Bill mused, and he smirked alongside Bev. They looked like evil, redheaded bookends. “First person to say they’re hungry is the person that has to go and get the food.”

“We were Machiavellian as kids, weren’t we?” Ben chuckled. 

“Were you all just sitting in hunger until one of us said something?”

“Maybe,” Bill adjusted his glasses. “I mean, it worked.”

“I’ll go with you, Eddie,” Mike offered again. “Nobody should be alone right now.” 

Eddie huffed out a sigh and looked up at Richie. The taller man grinned at him and shrugged. “Thems the rules, Sunshine,” he said. He leaned down and smacked a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Stay with Mikey,” he added lowly. “Watch each other’s backs.”

“You too,” Eddie said. “No smoke breaks unless you bring somebody with you, okay?”

“Gotcha,” Richie kissed his forehead again, softer. “Don’t hit Mike again, sugar.” 

“You ass,” Eddie grumbled. “Come on, Mike,” Eddie straightened his basketball shorts and the huge floral tee he was still wearing, slipped on his loafers, and held the door open. 

He and Mike walked down to the lobby with a calming, friendly air hanging in the silence between the two of them. 

“So,” Eddie said, smiling. “You wanna have pink or green accents for the wedding?” 

Mike laughed, and Eddie beamed; it was a deep and lovely sound. “Gosh, Eddie. I don’t know. What’s Richie’s best man doing? I don’t want to step on any toes.”

“We haven’t got that far,” Eddie hummed when the elevator reached the lobby. Mike stepped out first, and he followed. “So why don’t you pick and we’ll plan around you.”

“I can’t possibly pick until I look at swatches,” Mike said. His tone was so flat and deadpan that Eddie shrieked with surprised laughter, covering his mouth while the giggles overtook him. “What? How else will I know, Eddie?” He looked around, still smiling; the lobby was entirely deserted. “Hm. Well.” 

They stood at the front desk for several minutes- the chairs behind it were pushed aside, empty. Unease prickled over the back of Eddie’s neck. He tapped on the front desk, hit the little bell, adjusted his glasses. When he looked up at Mike, the man was no longer smiling. 

“I’m gonna go check this out,” Mike said. He climbed over the counter, vaulting his long legs onto the other side. “Janet?” He yelled. No response. 

“Mike--“

“I won’t get in trouble,” Mike looked back at Eddie. “We all sit on the council together. Just wait here.” He disappeared into the back office. 

Eddie bounced on his feet. He kicked one loafer off and put it back on, twice. Bit his thumbnail and whistled while he was doing it. He barely blinked, watching the area all around him. It felt like the Townhouse was completely empty, eerily silent and abandoned, and Eddie started to think that maybe it was except for the seven of them, cleared out by some odious malfeasance that couldn’t touch them and, instead, cleared a path and a battleground on which to deal with them. 

Five minutes passed. 

And then ten. 

It was fifteen minutes after Mike had vanished when Eddie heard him shout. There was a crash and he shouted again, and Eddie jumped over the front desk without a second thought, pushing through the door behind it and screaming Mike’s name. 

The door behind the front desk of the Townhouse led down a stilted and dark hallway with four doors. Eddie stopped, his hands raised, and then darted towards the third door, the second to last one on the right side. He opened it with a wrench of his hands and it took him a moment to process what he was seeing. 

“Mikey,” he gasped, his hands flying over his mouth. Mike was on the floor, groaning in a steadily growing puddle of blood, clutching at his leg. 

“Eddie,” he said sharply. “Eddie, behind you!”

The warning only sank in for about two seconds before Eddie felt thick, corded arms seize him, lifting him and yanking him backwards. Eddie would probably have screamed at the shock of the thing, but the forearms around his middle dug into his ribs painfully and left no room for any extra air. He kicked wildly, his arms pinned at his sides. 

“Get _off_ \--“

“Shut up, faggot,” the owner of the arms barked behind him; so, Eddie screamed louder. 

“HELP!” he shrieked. “HELP, SOMEBODY!” the man behind him tightened his arms and gave Eddie a nasty, violent, lurching shake. Eddie’s ribs were straining under the pressure- soon, he felt they’d start to break. 

“Shut up, he said.” 

Eddie whipped around, still kicking in mid-air. There was a man in the farthest corner of the room- it was a break room, Eddie realized belatedly- with wisps of pale blonde hair. He was a smaller man, height-wise, but strongly built. His left hand was a twisted and ruined mess, and Eddie suddenly remembered, suddenly knew who he was with a wellspring of deep and dawning horror.

Victor Criss was watching him across the room, a hateful expression on his face. He raised his crooked hand and tipped it in Eddie’s direction. “You remember this,” his voice was soft. “Yeah?” Eddie stared at him. He redoubled his efforts with his legs, but it continued to do him no good. “Good.”

“He said not to play,” the man behind Eddie grunted. Another cold wave of recognition washed over Eddie; it was Belch Huggins. “Just kill ‘im--“

“I’ll do what the fuck I want to do,” Victor snarled. His face was puce and Eddie caught himself wondering if Victor had been this angry all along, just stewing, rotting here in Derry for over two decades. 

“Back the FUCK off--“ Eddie snarled, his words cut off by one shovel-sized hand closing tightly over his mouth and nose. Panic lit up his body instantly, and he struggled even harder. He thought valiantly about his inhaler, upstairs, and how he needed it, and how fucking useless it would be to him if he suffocated here and now--

“Lay off his nose, Belch,” and Belch’s hand was gone and Eddie heard the soft click of a pocketknife being opened. “Just hold him still. I want him awake, I want him to fucking feel it.” 

***

_**Richie.** _

Richie Tozier was excellent in high-pressured situations, and he pretty much always had been. He hadn’t been in so many fights, really; most of the altercations that he could recall from his childhood up through going off to college had more to do with him getting the snot kicked out of him than anything else. The only times that he could really remember coming into the fray as an aggressor was the Dickbag Dave situation, where he’d knocked out several of the dude’s teeth for what he’d done to Eddie and Stan, and when he’d punched Eddie’s rebound just after rehab. Probably, he thought to himself, that he would have beat the shit out of that guy too, if he hadn’t been unceremoniously thrown out on his ass by all three of the bar’s bouncers. For some reason, while he was a lover, baby, and not a fighter in any kind of way that mattered, he’d always had a sneaking suspicion that he’d do well in a war room. He was receiving some divine confirmation of that now; he, Stan, Bill, Bev, and Ben sat together to wait for Eddie and Mike, grimly discussing the recent events that plagued their little town from hell. 

“Before you woke up, Mike was t-telling us about the reasons, y-y’know,” Bill shrugged. “The triggers that made him call us. Adrian Mellon was the b-big one--“

“Yeah,” Richie raised one finger. “And if we could all _not_ talk about the brutally murdered, gay, asthmatic man in front of me, that’d be swell.”

“Don’t go green,” Beverly cautioned him, but her voice was kind. She left her spot at the little breakfast table and slid over to Richie. He wrapped his arms around her without a second thought, mumbling out an apology when he accidentally caught her in the ribs. “Don’t mention it,” she soothed. She’d always been able to read him like a book and it seemed like now was no exception. He was edgy and off kilter in a way that he’d never been, and it had nothing to do with the hell clown clawing its way up through the finer shits in Derry’s sewers. Or, fuck, maybe it had everything to do with that. 

The point was that, at the end of the day, no matter how well he’d always been able to keep himself composed or how easy it had been for him to diffuse most situations with jokes and candor, right now, it wasn’t doing anything for him. That was because, right now, Richie Tozier couldn’t see shit. Literally.

It was baffling, an absolute middle finger to all of modern medicine- not to mention to the thousands of dollars that he’d spent on fucking Lasik surgery. When he’d opened his eyes this morning, they’d been a little fuzzy. No biggie, it happened to everybody sometimes, and with the six other Losers crowded around him, Richie had slept as safe and as sound as any baby. But his eyes hadn’t fixed themselves since he’d gotten up; in fact, they’d gotten worse. It was like he was looking through a pane of frosted glass. He could see the wild smear of orange that was Bev’s hair, the cream color of her face and the blue of her frankly adorable pajamas. Sitting on the bed, he could make out the shape of Ben and Stan. The Stan-blur had darker hair, was taller. Bill was the only dusty mark at the table. They had no distinguishing features and they were made up of soft edges. 

It put his teeth on edge. This wasn’t right, and without his eyes- _or a pair of glasses, good god_ \- Richie was about as well off as a newborn baby. A newborn baby with shitty, shitty eyes. 

So, of course, he was determined not to tell anybody about his plight. He ran a hand over Bev’s hair and felt comfort in the tactile sensation of it, the sound of her sigh; he had four other senses, right? He’d be fine. 

“I wish we would have split off more evenly,” he heard Bill say. “I duh-d-don’t like just two of them d-down there and five of us up here.” 

“Want to send some reinforcements?” That was Ben. “Let’s send two more.” 

“I’m p-probably being foolish--“

“No, Bill,” Stan said. He stood. “Ben and I will go.” Richie could tell that they were all looking at each other, communicating some meaning, but it was totally lost on him. 

“You’re leaving me alone with the two redheads and we’ve only just become reacquainted,” Richie whined instead, extending his arms towards Stan. “So magnanimous! You’re an example for veterinarians everywhere--“ 

“Good to know that after all of these years, nobody’s found your off switch--“

“I like ‘em foxy and fiery, just ask anybody, Stanley--“

“Beep beep,” Ben said, and Richie snapped his mouth shut. It was like a verbal yank on his leash. “We both have our cell phones, we’ll call if we see anything hinky.” 

“Be careful,” Bev said. Richie heard the door open and shut. He was alone with Bev and Bill, sure, but he didn’t feel the least bit comforted by their fiery foxiness at all.

***

_**Eddie.** _

“LET ME GO!” Eddie shrieked, kicking out wildly, twisting his upper body all around. He shimmed up, trying to pop out of Belch’s arms like a wet bar of soap and gained himself a little leverage that way, but ultimately, it wasn’t enough to earn the use of his arms and it wasn’t enough to do him any fucking good. 

“Stop- hey, HEY,” Victor swiped the tip of the blade across Eddie’s knee cap, slicing open his tan skin with a terrible whisper of ease. “Hey, listen, you’re all going to die here, but if you don’t stop kicking your legs, I’m going to cut your FUCKING dick off, and then I’m gonna feed it to that washed up piece of trash on the floor over there while you fucking watch, okay?” Eddie heard a thin, wheezing groan and realized belatedly that it was coming from his own chest. “Okay?” Victor insisted, and Eddie nodded, frantically. He felt every bit a scared thirteen year old, a terrified child, and he needed Richie, and he needed his mother, and he needed his inhaler--

_\--and it was his own voice that broke through the solid wall of fear that had shelled off his brain, lifted straight from a not-so-distant memory. He was walking in front of a messy line of students, shorter than almost every single one of them, even the women, and he couldn’t care less. He walked with his shoulders back and his chin high and a spark in his step because he knew exactly what he had to offer. His strength was innate, and he had loads of it to share._

_“Alright,” Eddie said, clapping his hands. “Okay, welcome, and for those of your that don’t know me- my name is Doctor Kaspbrak. Thanks for coming. The school was kind enough to give me the run of the gym for today, but it helps when people actually show up to these things.” There were a few scattered laughs and titters from the crowd and Eddie smiled at them._

_“Okay,” He took off his glasses and jogged over to the edge of the gym, setting them neatly beside his bag. “So-“ he waved his hand to the back and turned back to his students. “Today I have two of the biggest, tallest guys that I know for volunteers. This is Jesse, and that’s Richie.”_

_The group of students went from paying attention to Eddie to staring at Richie and Jesse, their eyes wide, their huddled forms prickled with whispers. Eddie rolled his eyes. “I know they’re famous,” he said loudly. “Can we continue to pay attention after that startling revelation?”_

_Richie turned to him with a smirk and a cat-claw gesture. “Me-ow,” he said, and the students shivered with full on laughter. Richie’s grin only grew when Eddie glared at him._

_“Okay,” Eddie said again, his tone sour. “So today is mostly going to be demonstration. I’m going to show you how to disarm somebody who has a reach advantage, a strength advantage, and a size advantage,” Richie’s smile slipped and he looked at Jesse, nervously. Jesse clapped him on his shoulder and they both looked back at Eddie with puffed chests and bolstered confidence. Little did they know. “And if we have time, I’d like to get into evading multiple assailants, but we might have to save it for next week. Does that sound--_

“Good,” Victor breathed. “Just put your legs down.” 

“Victor--“

“Shut UP--“

When Victor advanced, knife in hand and distracted by Belch, Eddie raised up both legs and kangaroo kicked him right in the solar plexus with every iota of strength in his legs- a considerable amount, in short. 

After this, two things happened simultaneously; Victor went down with a whoosh of exhaled air like a sack of bricks and Belch lurched forward with Eddie- the momentum of the smaller man’s kick had pushed him forward by several inches and had threatened to cost him his hold. Eddie let out a wild cry and slammed his head backwards into Belch’s face. 

Belch released him immediately, bellowing and clutching at his nose. It had broken on impact like a twig, and when Eddie remembered all of the torment he had endured from these fuckheads as kids he thought, savagely: _Good._

Eddie stood, and stumbled when Victor yanked on his arm, panting to catch his breath, his dark eyes glittering. He stood up and for a strange second, Eddie realized how small Victor was, how he could only be maybe two inches taller than Eddie, at that, and Victor swung back his arm, the pocketknife glittering in his hand like a piece of glass--

And Eddie reared back and slammed the heel of his palm into Victor’s face, doing to his nose what he’d already done to Belch’s with the back of his head, and yanked his wrist right out of his grasp. 

“FUCK--“ Victor shouted. He stepped back and held his face, and Eddie used his seconds wisely; Belch was already standing straighter, and wiping palmfuls of blood off of the bottom of his face. Eddie raced passed him and jumped over a fallen chair, landing beside Mike, panic igniting every single one of his nerve endings and making him feel a little super human. 

“Can you walk?” He asked. Mike shook his head. His skin had gone grey, and his breaths were somehow both deep and rattling, and painfully shallow. “C’mon, try,” he clutched at one of Mike’s arms and hauled him over, wrapping the limb around his shoulder. Mike’s pant leg was soaked in blood, originating from somewhere at the top of his thigh, and Eddie didn’t want to think about it, didn’t even want to know the word _artery_ \--

He dragged Mike out of the break room and down the little hallway and out to the back of the desk. He saw two blurry figures across the lobby, and realized with a bolt of clarity that they were blurry because he was crying. 

“HELP!” He screamed. They both turned to him with a start. They ran over while Eddie dragged Mike from behind the counter. “Please! He’s- he’s going to bleed to deat--“ 

“Holy shit--“ It was Ben that reached them first. He took half of Mike’s weight from Eddie and together, they laid the grievously bleeding man to the ground. When Mike was prone with Ben over him, Eddie turned around and jammed the chair underneath the doorknob, blocking off the back hallway. It was a bandage, nothing permanent, but it would give them time. He lifted his glasses and wiped at his eyes. 

Stan was at Mike’s side in the blink of an eye, bent beside the other man. His hands were incredibly steady while he searched for the sourse of the bleeding. “Mikey,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Who am I?”

“Stanley,” Mike breathed. Stan nodded and pulled off his polo shirt, twisting it into a thin rope. 

“You got it,” Stan said. His slow tone was a counterpoint to his lightening fast hands- he wrapped the shirt around Mike’s upper thigh and tied it off, tugging it tight. Mike went rigid and clenched his teeth, biting off a scream. “I know, I know it hurts, keep talking to me--“

“Eddie, where did they get you?”

“What?” Eddie asked Ben, dazed. 

“You’re covered in blood--“

“None of it’s mine,” Eddie said quickly. “I mean, he cut my knee, but it’s nothing, but they- they might come back, they’re back there, but--“

“We have to call an ambulance,” Stan said sharply. “It’s his femoral artery--“

“--I’ll call- Eddie, _no_ \--“

But Eddie was already running back up the lobby. “You call!” He shouted back over his shoulder. “I’ll get the others, I’ll bring them back down!”

“Eddie!” Stan bellowed after him. “Eddie, don’t go on your own!” 

But Eddie was already up in the stair well, sprinting upwards, Mike and Stan and Ben and Bill and Bev and Richie all on his brain, their wellbeing his only concern. 

***

_**Richie.** _

He knew that he was giving himself away, but he couldn’t do anything about it. With every step he had to grab one of Bev’s shoulders, or Bill’s elbow. They were shooting him the occasional concerned look- or, what he assumed was a concerned look. Honestly, right now, he had no way of knowing. 

“Richie,” Bev started. She reached her hand back and grabbed his, tightly. “You should have stayed back in the room.” They were walking down the hallway to get to the elevators- too much time had passed and with it, too much radio silence. It felt like every second that their group of seven was fractured was a second more that they were in grave and terrible danger. Richie had a feeling in the core of his chest. It was an awful, indescribable sensation, a suckling and guilty terror; he had let Eddie go. He had let Eddie go, and now he was never going to--

_Now, you just cut that bullshit right out of your vocabulary_ , Richie thought. _Cut it out right now. They’re caught up in arguing over breakfast. Eddie’s a health nut, he’ll dig his heels in and argue about food three times a day if he has to and you know that from experience--_

He couldn’t shake the feeling. He couldn’t--

“Richie?” Bev said, softer this time. Her voice was a question mark. Bill reached over and took Richie’s other hand. 

“It’s h-his eyes,” Bill said. “Isn’t it? You cuh-c-c-c--“

“Can’t see a thing, Billy boy, you bet,” Richie said weakly. “Thank god I’m with my favorite ginger compatriots, your hair is bright enough to light up the darkest recesses of my heart. Or at least what’s left of your hair--“

“Can it,” Bev said. She turned around and tugged Richie back with her, and Bill went along by proxy. “This was a huge mistake. We can’t go anywhere like this.”

“No,” Richie yanked his hand back, blinking wildly like that would do him a bit of good. “NO. Eddie’s down there, I’m not going back.” 

“You duh-don’t have glasses?”

“I got Lasik years ago, I haven’t worn glasses since then.”

He heard a sigh, but couldn’t tell if it was Bill or Bev. “We’re probably overreacting.” So, Bev then. “And they’re ordering food, and we’re going to rush down there looking like dumbasses.” 

“You knuh-kn-know that isn’t t-true,” Bill said. 

“Listen,” Richie laughed weakly, crossing his arms. “Good ol’ Stuttering Bill Denbrough, nice of you to join us. Come on, Bevvy, look at us. This isn’t normal. This is medical journal level shit.” 

“Well, what should we DO, Richie, drag your blind ass around? If you stay in the room where you’re--“

“Dude, I’m NOT fucking staying in there while Eddie is--“

“ _RICHIE!!_ ”

All three of them whirled around, their eyes fixed on the dark and distant end of the hallway, in the direction opposite of the elevator, back towards their room. Nothing was wrong with any of their hearing, after all; it was Eddie, and he was screaming. 

“Eds,” Richie breathed, and then he was off like a shot, shaking off Beverly’s hand and running down the (suddenly) dimmed hallway, passed their room, as fast as his long legs could carry him.

“Richie!” Bev was screaming behind him, distant suddenly, too far away for it to be real, but Richie wouldn’t stop, because another set of screaming held his whole entire focus--

“ _Help me Richie, PLEASE! RICHIE_ \--“

He turned right once, and then left, left again, and saw him then, finally. Eddie was curled up in the corner by the ice machine, shaking and screaming. He was bloody and battle worn, and shaking, his hair loose and his face buried in his trembling hands. 

“Oh my god,” Richie collapsed to his knees and reached out, grabbing the smaller man and yanking him into his arms. “Oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. What happened? Where are--“

“Dead,” Eddie croaked. He buried his face into Richie’s chest, his body heaving, his fingers tight in Richie’s shirt. “They’re all dead, all gone. You LEFT me, Richie, you left--“

“I’m so sorry,” Richie gasped out. His head was reeling. Dead. Mike and Stanley and Ben, all…all dead, how could they be dead--

“Bill and Bev will be soon,” Eddie cried, wiping his eyes on the back of his hands. He was freezing in Richie’s arms, shivering and shaking. “Be-because you left them, too!” 

Richie felt dizzy, horrible. “Don’t say that, Eddie, do--“

“And then it’ll be you,” Eddie wailed. The hair on Richie’s neck and arms stood up, alarm bells were clanging in his head. “And I’m al-already gone, I’ve been dead since you left me at Neibolt twenty-seven years ago--“ Richie shoved Eddie away from him with a sharp gasp. He fell back on his ass and sat there, gaping and terrified. “You remember?” Eddie said softly, all traces of his tears vanished like a mirage. He was jittery, still, but the hands that he grabbed Richie’s legs and pulled him back with were as strong as iron. “You and Billy left me alone there, you left me to die, and I did die. I died, Rich, and soon you’ll be dead too; _Richie Tozier’s All Dead Rock Show_! How would you like that?” Something black bubbled up at the corner of Eddie’s mouth, burst, dribbled down his chin. 

“You’re not Eddie,” Richie said. He was pushing himself away, but Not-Eddie was strong, he was moving up Richie’s legs now, and Richie was struck with a brand new memory that was as sharp as the smell of ammonia--

_\--“wanna play loogie?” it gurgled, insane, and it was throwing up black ichor that burned the floor and Richie thought It only imitated dead people why was It Eddie why did It look like Eddie--_

“I am in every way that matters,” Not-Eddie whispered. His breath was cool and dry, and smelled like old dirt, the heavy kind that laid over scores of caskets in old churchyards. “In all of the ways that you like.”

“No--“ 

“Eddie’s done for, anyway,” it giggled. There was more sludge leaking from its mouth, and it was freezing cold where it dripped onto Richie’s sweatpants. “We can stay here. All of Derry is home, all of Derry is Neibolt Street--“

“Get off of me! Ge--“

“You’ve been gone too long and you’re too old,” Not-Eddie said. “But when you’re floating you’ll feel young again. It’ll take away your grey hairs and your wrinkles and give you me, and me you, and we can still get married, you won’t have to see any of your friends die if you’re the first one to go--“

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Richie kicked out wildly. He blanched, and blinked; there was nobody in his lap, suddenly. He stared at the ice machine, panting, clutching at the filthy carpet underneath his fingertips. “Okay,” he breathed, nodding, “okay.” He turned around on his knees and Eddie was there, instead, but it wasn’t his Eddie, couldn’t be; it was Eddie how he’d been in college, his hair longer and wavy but dull here, dusty, in the pink sweatshirt that he always loved, the light jeans. His face was chalky pale and smeared and dirty and he was beaming, grinning and showing every dirty tooth in his mouth. Richie whimpered- a small, terrified sound that made him feel like a child. 

“It’ll be your mind first,” Not-Eddie whispered. “Then your body and your voice. I’ll rot you from the inside out with cancer, Richie, I’ll take everything you have away. Promise.” 

“Fuck you,” Richie hissed.

“Shhhh, shh-shhh,” Not-Eddie soothed. He brought his hands up to cup Richie’s face; they didn’t feel like human hands. They were…cold, and hard, the fingers strangely shaped and long and _sharp_ \--

“You can let it all go the way that you used to,” Not-Eddie gurgled. Richie wrenched himself back, crab-walking backwards until he was pinned against the ice machine. Even with his blurred vision, he could make out the mystery of those hands as clear as day; where there should be fingers there were syringes, ten full syringes, bubbling with a dark liquid that dripped from their needle tips and ran down them. Horror seized up at Richie’s chest, unadulterated and absolute terror. “Remember how good it used to feel?” 

“No--“

“Come on, Rich, it’ll be just like old times!” Not-Eddie cackled, and he lunged forward. “Let’s get high!”

***

_**Eddie.**_

Eddie was panting by the time that he reached their room. He knocked rapidly, sweating, huffing, and full of panic. “Guys!” He shouted. “Please, it’s me! Mike is hurt, he…he…” The door sung open under the force of Eddie’s knocking- it hadn’t even been closed, let alone locked. 

Danger prickled up Eddie’s spine, racing along his skin like a cold draft. He walked inside of the room- it was dark, too dark to feel like daylight. 

“Richie?” He asked. His voice was trembling. “Ri--!!“ He cut himself off with a shriek when the door slammed shut behind him. “No!” He turned around and wrenched at it, groaning, pulling at the handle and clawing desperately at the doorjamb, but to no avail. It felt like it was welded shut. 

“Oh, _fuck_ \--“

“I was hoping it’d be you,” a voice said from behind Eddie. Startled, his heart in his throat, he turned around. 

There was a man standing at the window-- _black it was all black beyond it how was that possible, it was morning_ \-- and Eddie could make out the aged crags of his face, his tired but dreamlike expression, his solid white hair. 

“The man in the moon couldn’t tell me who it would be,” he said. His voice was childlike and strange, because even though he’d aged, and aged poorly, his voice hadn’t changed a day and Eddie would recognize it anywhere, he--

_\--he remembered now that he’d survived the drop in the well with lots of broken bones but he’d survived and when they’d pulled him out, he’d been insane. They’d pinned the murdered children all on him and dusted off their hands and sent him off to the asylum, to Juniper Hill--_

“I told him, you know, I don’t care. I’ll kill ‘em all,” Henry Bowers turned to look at Eddie, now, and the switchblade in his hand was the only thing that seemed to catch any light in the room. “But I’m real happy to start with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE'RE BACK AT IT AGAIN.
> 
> Okay so first off, lemme hit y'all with this quick mother fucking APOLOGY: I AM SO SORRY THAT IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET THIS OUT. On top of it being a difficult chapter to write, I've been VERY sick with a head cold, a double ear infection, a sinus infection, and a chest cold. This winter will probably kill me, yet, but I'll try to finish Lovesong before I go. <3 On top of being ill and tired and working like a crazy person, I just haven't been in my best place mentally and, therefore, unable to produce my best content, and I really feel like I owe you guys my best. 
> 
> Thank you for all of the kind, sweet, insightful, warm, emotional words that you've all sent me. I'm a dud for taking so long to respond but please know; I see them all. They all touch my heart. I love how much you love these guys, I love my fucking idiots here to death, and I'm SO HONORED to be able to deliver you this story. 
> 
> So please, let me know what you think, I'm always eager to hear all of your thoughts. I hope that it was worth the wait- and I'm sorry that you had to wait so long. I'll try not to do that again. 
> 
> xoxoxoxo  
> waxagent


	6. Going Backwards

**_Richie._ **

 

Richie couldn’t move. He felt rooted into the ground beneath him, shaking with fear. Not-Eddie was on him in a heartbeat and Richie’s head swam with the wrongness of the situation; Eddie’s college-boy looks and his cold, greying skin, his maniacal cackling and his hands, good god, his hands--

_\--were small and they were warm, always and without fail. His skin was smooth and he always smelled sweet. Whether it was that stupid body soap- some milk, honey and oats thing- or just his sweat after a round of intense yoga, Richie fucking loved the way that Eddie smelled. His laugh was sweet, too, like a silver bell. When he really got into it, Eddie laughed with a gale force, his eyes pinched shut and his nose wrinkled while the glee overtook him and this--_

“--will be so easy,” Not-Eddie whispered. His voice was like silk in Richie’s ear. “Like falling asleep, ‘Chee. Just hold our your arms, I’ve seen you do it a hundred times; I know what to do. Just give me your arms and let me take care of everything.”

Another horror. It struck Richie in some terrible way to hear about his arms, about what he’d used to do to his body in front of Eddie, not caring if he saw. He would have shot up on the front lawn of the white house back then, would have done line after line in front of all of his friends and family. In the deepest throes of his addiction he had never much cared for subtlety. After they’d gotten back together and had started to move on together, Eddie had never brought it up. He had been nothing but supportive, amazing, had never really referred to Richie’s addiction unless Richie had spoken about it first.

This mocking parody of the man that Richie loved couldn’t be more wrong.

“Get away from me,” Richie grunted. _Too late_ , his mind cried; the Eddie imposter on his lap seemed to weigh five tons. “Get _off_ \--“

“Beep beep, Richie,” Not-Eddie cooed. When he pulled back, he didn’t have Eddie’s hazel eyes anymore. It’s eyes were a rolling amber, red rimmed, rheumy and unfocused, set in Eddie’s face and it was awful, it was the stuff of nightmares--

Not-Eddie drooled more black sludge, grinning when it raised its hypodermic hands. “Goodbye, Trashmou--”

_BANG!_

It screeched, a hiccupping and wet sound, and Richie screamed too; Beverly was standing behind it, the silver bucket from the ice machine in her hands, and she was bringing it down on Not-Eddie’s head over and over again. “GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

Just behind her, Richie could make out Bill’s face. It was ghastly with panic, a beacon in the dark. “Richie! R-R--”

“YOU’RE GONNA DIE HERE YOU PATHETIC JUNKIE!” Not-Eddie shrieked, and that was it, the final straw; Richie surged up, grabbed the mirage by its shoulder, and hauled back his fist. When his hand came down, it wasn’t into the cold meat of his fake lover but through a thin mist.

A cackle echoed in his ears.

He and Bill and Bev were alone in the hallway.

In the naked moment that hung there, the silence between three old and estranged friends, it was all suddenly too much to bear. Richie made a terrible sound in his throat before he gagged, wheeled around, and threw up right beside the ice machine. He settled on to his knees, narrowly avoiding his own sick, and heaved violently, one hand on the wall in front of him and the other clutched in his hair.

“C’mon--“

“Bevvi--“

“Rich,” Beverly’s voice was pleading. “Richie, I know that was awful, honey, I know but there’s no _time_ \--“ He groaned but let her haul him up to his feet. He hadn’t wanted to tell them. He hadn’t wanted them to know. He felt raw and chafed and angry, so angry; after this they’d look at him and they’d know what he’d wanted to hide away, his shame, his addiction--

_Don’t touch a drink or they’ll know your secret, Richie_ , that imitation of Eddie’s voice was whistling in his head. _The jig’s up either way, Richie--_

He had to shake that off. The embarrassment caused by the Richie of yesteryear was going to have to be Tomorrow Richie’s issue; there were far more pressing issues at hand.

“I have to find him,” Richie ground out. He grabbed onto Bill’s arm and yanked him in close. Up like this, even through the perpetual fog of his worsening vision, he could see Bill’s blue eyes shining with horror…and pity. Fuck. “I have to find him, Bill, last time--“

“I kn-know,” Bill said. He brushed Bev’s hands off of Richie’s shoulders and helped him stand up straighter, motioned with his hand for Richie to take a deep breath, then another, all the while holding eye contact. “So we’re guh-going to go d-d-downstairs and find them, ok-kay?”

“Okay--“

“T-take a d-d-deep breath, Rich.” And fuck, just like that, he had to listen; he felt like Bill had a hand in his chest to pump his lungs for him, so great was his innate lead to listen to their fearless leader. Instead of arguing, Richie did what Bill had said to do: one deep breath in, one out. In. Hold. Out.

In.

Hold.

Out.

In.

Slowly, the panic that had permeated his headspace since he saw Eddie curled up and bloody by the ice machine ebbed away like a receding tide. Bill nodded to him, offered both hands, and helped him to stand up. Richie felt childish on his legs, but he set his jaw and looked between his friends. The air between the three of them was solemn.

“Ready?” Beverly asked. She held out a hand. Richie took her fingers in his. Bill grabbed his other hand and they were off together, all walking in a row and sticking close to the wall like the center of the hallway was lava, or like it might come alive and swallow them whole at any moment.

While they soldiered on, the din of the Townhouse became deafening. It wasn’t a normal series of sounds, though, nothing earthly that Richie could pinpoint. It was all screaming, a myriad of shrieking oozing out of the walls. He heard--

_\--he’d overdosed, really fucked it up now and nobody told him that the taste of vomit lingered in your mouth when you were dying. Fuck, did dying suck, did it ever fucking blow, but it was Eddie’s shrieking-_ RICH! Oh, no, no, no, no, RICHIE- _that permeated the hollow death rattle of his own breathing and the low buzz in his ears, bouncing off of the bathroom tile when the smaller man dragged him under the spray of the shower and saved his life--_

_\--his mother was wailing at him, screaming over the phone, sobbing-_ “You have to come to the funeral Richie he was your father, Richard, RICHARD YOUR FATHER IS DEAD AND YOUR FAMILY NEEDS YOU, I NEED YOU-” _and when he hung up on her the guilt ate away at him and it struck every chord in his heart that was in key with the grief-stricken wailing of Maggie Tozier--_

_\--they screamed for Only Revolutions in droves. He and Jesse and Lettie were tired, they were so tired, but they walked on stage and they smiled, and everything in front of them was a dark and screaming mass, blacked out by the stage lights, shapeless and huge “RI-CHIE, RI-CHIE, RI-CH--_

\--a cacophony of them, a total din- but one felt fuller and more to the surface: it was Eddie, shrieking like a banshee, breathless and wild. They were passing their room now and the sound was so loud. Richie squeezed his eyes tight and clutched his friends’ hands and kept walking--

\--but where all of the other screams had been a keening thrum of _“RICHIERICHIERICHARDRICH”_ , these were different. These were--

_“I SWEAR TO MOTHERFUCKING GOD, I’M GONNA KILL YOU IF YOU DON’T GET OFF OF ME RIGHT NOW, GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME GET--!”_ and then it sounded like pain, a wordless shriek that made Richie feel like somebody had grabbed both of his balls and shoved them in ice water.

“Eddie!” Beverly was the first to react. She let go of his hand and surged back to the door of their room, pounding on it with both fists. _“Eddie!”_

_“GET AWAY!”_ Eddie screeched back. _“It’s Henry Bowers, he--“_ again, Eddie’s words were cut off with an arcing scream.

Richie and Bill descended on the door on either side of Bev, pounding and kicking. Bill, ever the smartest cookie, was the first to actually try the knob, but it was a no-go: nothing budged it.

“Back up,” Richie panted. Beverly stepped back, her eyes angry and panicked, but Bill hesitated. “Bill, back the fuck up!” He did. Richie lifted his leg and slammed his foot into the door, over and over and over.

Nothing.

He and Bill tried rushing it with their shoulders, all of their weight pressed into the blows.

Nothing.

Inside, Eddie screamed and screamed and screamed.

 

_**Stan.** _

 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Stan whispered to Mike. “You’re gonna be fine, come on, Mikey, talk to me.”

“Stan--“

“ _Yes_ , Mike, come on--“

“G’nna be fine,” Mike slurred. His head tilted back and Stan took in every inch of him in less than five seconds- the patch of facial hair under his jaw that hadn’t been shaved down all of the way; the old bandaid around his index finger that needed to be changed; his crooked haircut. Telltale signs of a man who lived alone, who maybe even enjoyed his solitude- but god damn it all to fucking hell; Stanley Blum-Uris was NOT going to let Michael Hanlon die in the way that he lived.

Alone.

“That’s right,” Stan said. He almost shuddered at the curt tone of his voice but now wasn’t the time; now WAS the time, however, to put all of his emotions and his empathy in the backseat and focus on the process, and the procedure, and the actual actions involved in getting Mike out of here.

He slid his arm under Mike’s upper back and tilted him up into a seated position. Mike sagged alarmingly against him, his breath thin and slow. He felt like a corpse and again, Stan had to urge his mind into submission, had to battle back the rising swell of terrible panic.

_Calm, calm, be calm._

“Alright, this is the tricky part, okay- Ben!”

“Just a TINY bit busy, Stan!” Ben yelled back. Stan whirled around to look.

The chair under the door was holding, rattling where Eddie had shoved it like a bandaid, but the door itself was shaking, bursting forward and backward in pulsing waves. It sounded like there was a whole orchestra of wailing coming from behind it. Ben had his whole entire upper body braced against the door. Sweat was beading along his brow, enough of it that Stan could see a droplet rolling down the side of his face from several feet away.

“Just listen.” He grabbed Mike even closer and the man let out a weak moan. Stan’s heart wrenched in his chest. “We’re gonna have to make a run for it.”

“No! I--“

“Ben! Mike is going to die if we don’t get him out of here now.” _More like if you don’t get him out of here five minutes ago_. Stan shook the thought away.

Ben fixed him with a determined glare. It made Stan’s spine prickle. “We can’t leave while the others are still up there.”

“Mike is--“

“Stan! I know you’re scared,” Ben said. “I am too, but if we leave now…” He trailed off, holding Stan’s gaze, and they both knew how that sentence ended. Bill had ended it for them twenty-seven years ago when they stumbled into the house on Neibolt Street--

_If we split up, It’ll pick us off one by one, but if we stay together--_

“If we stick together, all of us, we’ll win,” Mike mumbled. Stan looked back at him; his eyes were glassy but focused. “Stan.”

Stan wrapped an arm around Mike’s shoulders and held him closely. “Keep talking to me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. No, he was not going to let Mike die as alone as he had lived.

He wasn’t going to let anybody die at all.

 

_**Henry.** _

 

“Oh, no- you- don’t,” Henry grunted. He was trying to hold Eddie down and stick him somewhere that mattered, but he was having a harder time of it than he would have guessed. Eddie was a wild thing beneath him, kicking and screaming, punching- biting, even. If Henry had a coherent line of thought running through his mind right now, something more than the urgings of the Man In The Moon who had bid him his terrible work, he’d be halfway to impressed.

Nonetheless. His barrage was unrelenting, and he and Eddie both knew the terrible truth to how this would end; eventually, Eddie would tire. Eventually, Henry’s knife would strike a spot that the smaller man wouldn’t be able to ignore as easily as he could the peppering of defensive slices over his forearms. Already, his arms were slick with blood, covered in rivulets of the stuff from the gashes that Henry’d been able to inflict. He tried for another, raised his switchblade over his head and then brought it down, fast-- and Eddie planted one foot against his diaphragm and shoved. Henry grunted and fell back, winded.

_“Eddie!”_ Somebody was shouting from the other side of the door. _“Eddie!”_

“GO!” Eddie scampered back, his eyes wild. “Richie, get the FUCK out of here!”

_“I’m not leaving without you--“_

“You ARE! Mike’s down there still, he’s hur-- get the FUCK off of me!”

Eddie had started a frantic crawl to the door, like Henry wouldn’t notice. He simply reached out and grabbed the smaller man by one ankle, dragged him back as if he weighed nothing at all.

“Let me GO, LET ME FUCKING GO--“

“Or you’ll what? Bleed on me?” Henry gave a tremendous yank on Eddie’s leg and while he was successful, sure, he was a little alarmed at how hard his own heart was pounding, how much sweat was dripping off of his forehead. _The little fucker is putting up one hell of a fight_. “Give me AIDS?”

“FUCK YOU--“

“You sure are doing a lot of screaming and squirming and- hold the fuck still now, come on, we’re talking.” He punched Eddie in his stomach with one ham hock fist and Eddie groaned, crumpling into himself. “They don’t teach fags dinner manners?”

“ _EDDIE!_ ”

“Somebody gotta teach you some manners.” Henry reached up and grabbed Eddie’s right arm, held it out from his curled up body. He set his switchblade on the floor with an obscenely gentle care, just beside Eddie’s head, and stood up. He pressed his size thirteen workboot over the smaller man’s forearm. “My Dad taught me my manners. Where’s your Daddy?”

He expected Eddie to cry because he knew the fairy’s dad was dead, knew that he only had that big bull bitch of a mother. What Henry did not expect was for Eddie Kaspbrak- the little, asthmatic, girly boy on the floor beneath his shoe- to laugh at him.

“I don’t know where my dad is,” Eddie panted. He looked up and stared Henry right in the face and it made Henry want to step back, some unnamable fear welling up in his throat. “But I got your dad right here, asshole.” And, wonder of wonders, he reached down with his free hand and grabbed between his legs.

Rage burst in the back of Henry’s mind like a super nova. He stomped down onto Eddie’s right arm. _There’s pins in it,_ some silky voice whispered in his mind. _Do it extra hard, and do it again_ , and Henry was pleased to oblige; he brought his foot down with crushing force once more, twice more, and then there was an awful _CRACK_ like a pistol, and Eddie was screaming high enough to burst. His arm underneath Henry’s shoe was bent all wrong halfway through the forearm, twisted almost completely back. His skin was strangely taut, like something was trying to poke through: a pin? His bone? Fine either way, Henry wasn’t picky.

Eddie was mumbling something, hiccupping. Henry took a second to absorb the scene; the man was beaten and bloody and maybe, finally broken. His left hand, formerly of the junk grabbing variety, was clutched to his chest, underneath his chin. His head was bowed.

“What’s that?” Henry nudged Eddie’s body with his toe. Eddie said something again, still undecipherable. Henry squatted down and yanked his head up. “Speak up. If you got something important to say, you better say it. It’s gonna be your last words.”

Eddie met his gaze. His face was tear streaked, sure, but his eyes…again, Henry felt that dread unravel in his chest. Eddie was furious underneath his pain and his fear, and his uninjured hand was still a fist over his arm. He reminded Henry of a cornered King Cobra, the notion of which made Henry even angrier. “What’s on your mind, fag?”

“I said,” Eddie breathed, and Henry had to suppress the suddenly overwhelming urge to run. “Is that the best you’ve fucking got?” He lashed out with his left fist and got what he could at striking distance: Henry’s neck. Henry tensed, braced himself for impact, but nothing could prepare him for the sharpness of that punch, the impact of it…the sudden wetness running down the side of his neck. Eddie was shouting but Henry could no longer make out words, only noise, and when the smaller man pulled back his hand there was the glint of ruby steel in it, the object that, in hindsight, Eddie had so obviously been hiding in his fist: his switchblade.

_Oh._

 

**_Eddie._ **

 

Eddie knew what he was doing when he stabbed Henry Bowers. He knew that he was going to kill the man- that he could either do it or die himself, while his friends screamed outside of the door. On every level, Eddie knew that this action was his only choice.

He didn’t expect the wild arterial spray from Henry’s throat. When Eddie pulled out the stolen switchblade, Henry’s eyes went wide and he clutched at his neck, gurgling, but his gaze was already sightless. His hands dropped, his fingers oddly rigid, his mouth agape, and when his body toppled over his blood sprayed over Eddie in a hot gush that left the smaller man clenching his mouth and eyes shut.

The sudden silence in the room was deafening. In small measures, feeling flooded back into Eddie. His right arm felt lightening-struck and he gasped, feeling faint when he dropped the switchblade to grab at his wounded limb. His eyes fell onto Henry again: utterly lifeless, horror etched over his expression. He was gripped by the urge to spit onto the man’s corpse, right into his glassy eyes, but he couldn’t.

He turned and threw up instead.

_“Eddie!?”_

_I just killed a man,_ Eddie thought. His ears were buzzing and his vision was a weird, dark grey. _I killed a man, I took a life, I ended--_

_“EDDIE!”_

“I’m here.” Eddie had intended to shout but his voice came out breathless, wretched and shallow like nail marks furrowed into folded arms. “Here.”

The door finally gave. Richie all but plowed straight through it, his hair on end and eyes wild. Eddie watched him go chalk white, his eyes almost comically large. Funny in any other circumstance.

“I’m not seeing this right,” Richie said weakly. His attention was hopping all around the room: Eddie, the blood, Bowers, the knife. “I’m not.”

“Yuh-y-you--“

“You are,” Beverly said. “Eddie, are you--“

“Oh, baby.” Richie was on his knees quicker than they could say another word. His hands found their way over all of Eddie, skittering over his bloody and tear streaked face, his arms, all cut to ribbons and broken, his knees and his chest. “Sunshine, Eddie, E--“

“I’m okay,” Eddie breathed, and then he fainted.

 

_**Bill.** _

 

There was no time to waste.

“Puh-p-pick him up,” Bill said. “We ha-have to g-go.” Richie hefted his lover up and turned back, wheeling a little. For a moment, in the silence, he looked terrifically lost- and Bill realized with a nasty jolt that Richie was waiting to follow the sound of his voice. “C-come on,” Bill said, softer.

“Take him,” Richie said. He held Eddie out and Bill hesitated for a second longer than he realized. Richie stepped forward, face set and grim; with a start, Bill realized that Richie didn’t at all resemble the child that Bill had once knew, or the spiraling addict that he’d shared a home with.

“I-I duh-d--“

“I can’t wait for you to spit it out,” Richie said. “I can’t fucking see. I…if I take him I’m gonna walk right over a cliff or down a flight of stairs or--“

Without a second thought, Bill took Eddie and hefted him up- the smaller man was as light as a piece of driftwood and warm with fresh blood. “C-come on,” Bill said again.

The Townhouse rumbled underneath their feet. They made an effort to be still and cautious while they left- but it only took a minute for all pretenses to cease and they were racing, running in check, Eddie flopping in Bill’s arms while he took the lead, Richie and Bev with their hands clasped behind him.

Bill’s heart was beating a murderous tattoo in his chest. Guilt washed through his veins and his muscles burned because even though his arms were full of a wounded friend, and even though two more of the same kept a terrified pace behind him, all he could think, on a loop, was--

_MikeMikeMikeMikeMikeMike_

\--that they would be too late.

When they reached the lobby Richie vaulted ahead and Bill wasted no time in handing off the man’s fiancé. He ran, his arms free and pumping at his sides. The space between him and the cluster of three people hunched on the floor in front of the receptionist’s desk seemed endless, and his heart all but stopped when he finally met them there. Bill dropped to his knees far harder than he meant to, but it didn’t matter; his world had sunk to a pinpoint at the end of his field of view and in it lay Mike, sweat sheened and nearly dead.

“H-he’s--“

“Alive,” Stan assured him. Bill saw that where his hands rested on their former lover, they were shaking. “Alive, but we have to get him out of here--“

“Oh my God,” Ben breathed. “Edd--“

“He’s okay,” Richie said weakly. “Just passed out.” From behind Richie, Beverly rushed forward and into Ben’s arms. “Hey,” Richie said, “I love the budding romance, I really do, but we gotta--“

“I know.” Ben rushed back to his fallen friend and squatted down beside him. He threw Stan a worried look. “You get on one side and I’ll get the other?”

Stan nodded, but whatever his response would have been broke off in a sharp gasp; the floor of the Townhouse lurched under their feet, violent, and while they watched a piece of the grand bannister leading up to the second floor cracked and broke off.

“It’s check out time,” Richie breathed. He hefted Eddie up. “Get Mike up, c’mon, we gotta go. Like, now.”

“Like yesterday,” Stan spat, but he did as Richie told him.

***

 

_**Eddie.** _

 

_He was floating on his back in the crystal clear bowl of water that sat at the foot of the crags of the quarry, eyes closed and Sun warm on his belly and his face. He knew without looking that he was young again- not a child, no, but eighteen, maybe nineteen. He knew this as he knew that Richie would be sitting on the beach a ways back, ogling him with that goofy grin that he’d been prone to wear ever since they came out at Bill’s graduation party, his ass flat on the silt and his arms up on his knees. Maybe they’d all be there behind him. Eddie hoped they would be. He couldn’t be bothered to open his eyes and check._

It feels nice, _somebody said with a voice like cotton candy. It came from above and from below him, all at once._

_“Yeah,” Eddie breathed._

Good to be back home?

_“Mmhm.” The water lapped along the edges of his body, and his skin felt hot and tight in the way that signaled a particularly good tan._

You can stay here forever, you know. Just floating.

_“I…” But Eddie couldn’t find a reason to argue because it DID feel nice, and it WOULD be easy, so easy, to just let--_

\--not going anywhere. That’s absolutely non-fucking-negotiable, Stanley.”

Eddie cracked his eyes open and regretted it instantly, wincing under the white hot burn of the hospital lamps.

“Hey,” Stan said. Richie turned around and went nearly boneless, both of his hands surging up to touch Eddie’s face. It was just the three of them in their room, a tiny little outpatient thoroughfare. Eddie grunted and tried to sit up but Richie was pushing him back down with a gentle gesture. “You’re up.”

“I’m up- baby, let me sit.”

“Nauseous?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Richie stopped trying to make Eddie lay and helped him sit instead, brushing back his greasy hair with one hand. “Headache?” Eddie nodded. “I’ll find you an aspirin.” Richie turned and stood up. His motions looked hesitant, though, and as soon as he was upright he dropped back down and threw his arms around Eddie, squeezing him as tightly as the strange bulk between them would allow- oh. Eddie looked down, adjusting the glasses that had somehow stayed on his face; a big, white cast swathed his right forearm. The limb underneath it was muddy with pain.

It didn’t matter. Eddie slid his arms around Richie in turn, pressing his filthy face into his neck. They breathed each other in and Eddie didn’t need to hear words to know what Richie was thinking, to know what he wanted to say. They’d been together long enough by now.

“I know,” Eddie whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Richie shook his head. “Don’t.” He turned and they kissed, just a soft peck on the edge of a larger moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Rich.” They pressed their foreheads together, their noses brushing, and when Eddie opened his eyes he was shocked to see that Richie was smiling at him. “What?”

Richie rubbed the side of Eddie’s neck. “You gonna let me sign your cast?” Eddie cracked his own grin at the sound of Stan’s incredulous snort. “I’ve been practicing my signature. It’ll look really nice.”

“Maybe.”

“Tight.” Richie stood up again, running a hand back through his hair. He turned to Stan. “What room are they in?”

“Three-oh-seven.”

“Gotcha. Be right back.”

“Be careful,” Stan warned. Richie nodded. “Seriously. Go right up there and don’t come back alone.” He watched Richie go, frowning deeply. He crossed his arms and huffed and grunted before finally turning his attention to Eddie.

“How’s Mike?”

“He’ll live,” Stan said. “Whoever stabbed him nicked his femoral artery, he--“

“Bowers.”

“…I’m sorry. What?”

“It was Henry Bowers,” Eddie said. Stan was squinting, his eyes darting all around. It looked like he was trying very hard to remember the answers on a pop quiz that he’d taken forty years ago. “He was waiting upstairs, he ambushed me. Broke my arm, tried to k…kill me.”

_And I killed him_ , Eddie thought, but couldn’t say.

Stan let out a low, hissing breath. “Shit,” he said. He rubbed his face with both hands, stained pink. Eddie noticed that there were dried flecks of blood on his wedding band. “Mike’s out of commission, Eddie. He’s gonna be in the hospital for weeks--“

“But we--“

“--and it took everything in our power to force Richie out of putting you in a Lyft and sending you back to Seattle.”

Eddie scoffed. “He’s freaked out. I get it. But…we’ve come so far, we have to see this out.”

“And what can we do?” Desperate fear bit at the end of Stan’s words. “Seven adults scared shitless. A man in a medically induced coma…another with a broken arm?”

“We can do what we can.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if Richie were the one in the cast instead of you.”

Eddie looked up, thoughtful. “Probably not, no,” he conceded.

“I keep thinking about my husband,” Stan said quietly. “About Pat. I keep thinking about how I’m gonna die here and he’s never gonna know what happened to me.”

“Stan--“

“He’s gonna spend the rest of his life sad, and scared, and alone, and I did that to him. At our wedding I promised NOT to do exactly what I did yesterday, to never, ever leave him, and-and for what? Some childhood vow that I didn’t even remember making.”

“We had to. You know we had no choice.”

Stan huffed out a burst of humourless laughter. “Execution-style.”

Eddie sighed. With his able hand, he picked at the edges of the sheets on his hospital bed. “I’m scared too,” he said. “None of us want to die, Stanley.”

“You didn’t see Mike,” Stan said. “You didn’t see him dying while he forced you to stay and wait an--“ he cut himself off with a wave of his hand, dragging it over his face before popping off his wedding ring and cleaning it compulsively with the edge of his shirt. “You didn’t see,” he said again. “You didn’t see.”

Eddie felt tears prickling at his eyes. He looked up, willing them away, and startled badly when a man in a white lab coat strode into the room. “Alright,” the doctor said. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Mmhm,” the doctor nodded. He was a big mountain of a man, expressive and handsome as all get out- or, he would be, if not for the bruising on his face. “Ah,” he laughed, a little self-conscious, and gestured at himself knowingly. He was wearing latex gloves on his big hands. “Car accident, sorry. I know it’s jarring.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie said weakly.

“Let’s see- Kaspbrak, Kaspbrak,” the doctor flipped through the pages of his chart without really reading anything. A buzz of concern drifted through Eddie’s brain:

_My name’s on there, right? Why’d he ask it?_

_He’s dirty for a doctor- unwashed hair and those cuts on his face are all uncleaned, unbandaged._

_His labcoat…it’s at least two sizes too small._

Stan looked similarly put off. He was sitting up straighter in his seat, and one of his hands wandered tentatively to grasp Eddie’s knee. “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat.

The doctor shot Stan a sharp look and Stan jerked back, instantly, recoiling and going ramrod straight. When the doctor peeled off his latex gloves and they saw that his knuckles were swollen, ripe and bruised and cut to pieces, the tickling in Eddie’s head turned into full-blown warning bells.

“Tom Rogan,” the man said, smiling. He extended one of his mangled hands for Stan to shake and Stan did so with a nervous, horrified imitation of a smile. He winced at Rogan’s touch and Eddie saw his hand go white from pressure, pink as soon as it was released from his captor’s meaty grip.

“So,” Rogan said. He produced a syringe and uncapped it, plugging the tip into the top of a little bottle and filling it up. “I’m gonna give you a little something to help you relax, Kaspbrak, and then I’ll wheel you down to surgery.”

_Surgery?_

“He’s relaxed,” Stan said sharply. “He doesn’t need that.”

“Quite the contrary,” Rogan said, smiling at Stan- his eyes, however, were as hard as stone. “He really does. Your arm, please, Eddie.”

“I--“

“And the doctor that we had before didn’t say anything about the need for a surgical intervention; in fact, he seemed to believe that as soon as Eddie was conscious we’d be all set to go. Don’t give him your arm, Eddie--“

Rogan rounded on Stan, then. He was brick red and fuming, as big as a house. “Now you listen here,” he seethed. “You’re gonna pick your ass up and go into the hallway. I’m gonna give this little-…I’m gonna give Mr. Kaspbrak here his medicine, okay? You’re just gonna walk away, and you’ll be fine--“

“Not on your life.” Stan stood up, abrupt and livid in his own right. He was right up in time’s face, his eyes flashing with bravery, and Eddie was powerfully reminded of the intense well of steel and bravery that Stan had always kept wrapped around his heart. “You--“

Eddie saw it happening through syrupy slow motion; Rogan’s hand canted back and up before coming down, down, straight into the meat of Stan’s bicep. When he let it go and stepped back, grinning with a wolfish sort of triumph, Stan was already staggering backwards, his eyes wide, grasping for where the syringe was dangling out of his arm.

“No!” Eddie lurched up and dove, but it was fruitless. Pain cycled up his broken arm in a grisly wave. The other wounds on him, scattered over his body like warring states, vied for his attention in equal measures.

“That’s fine,” Rogan mumbled to himself, alarmingly disconnected. Like a mad bull scenting for blood, his head swung in between Stan and then Eddie. “It wanted you, but it’ll settle for both, I think…It’ll be happy. And It’ll give me what I fucking came for.”

Rogan shoved and Eddie stumbled, black spots bursting over his vision. He saw enough to really grasp the concept of Tom Rogan’s fist swinging for his face, and then his mind went blank for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS, if there's anybody here to still read this note I just want to say a couple of quick things:
> 
> -I'm sorry this took so long. I am. 
> 
> -Thank you for sticking around; it means more to me than you'll ever know. 
> 
> See you soon,  
> xoxoxoxo  
> WaxAgent

**Author's Note:**

> YA'LL IT IS FINALLY TIME. 
> 
> So, here's some food for thought, and I hope you'll bare with me; I've decided to be a little close to the chest with the tags for this bad boy. I really don't want to telegraph any spoilers for this story before I've gotten to them. PLEASE UNDERSTAND; this is a story based on one of the most terrifying books that I've ever read and just because I've deigned not to use warnings doesn't mean that they don't apply. There WILL be plot twists and cliffhangers. There WILL be violence. There MIGHT be character deaths. I'll post trigger warnings at the top of each chapter for the ones that are graphic or sensitive, but I would like to STRONGLY urge you to read with caution! But, uh, here, welcome back, have a seat, and I hope that you enjoy my story <3
> 
> If you have to talk something through or have any questions, PLEASE reach out to me at tumblr via @waxagent or @waxagent writes.
> 
> I hope to be able to keep up with my usual firing on all thrusters update pace but this thing is already a MFing BEAST and is probably going to be longer than any other part in this series. 
> 
> Now, it's time for some Li'l Headcannons!:
> 
> -Richie and Eddie live in an intensely beautiful house outside of the city of Seattle. They have two acres, lots of trees, and both of their names are on the mortgage. Eddie's favorite spot in their house is a window seat in their bedroom. Richie's is the back porch.
> 
> -Richie is incredibly happy to have had his eyes fixed. Eddie still has two pairs of his glasses- one of the newer ones with huge, forest green frames, and an old coke bottle set, the pair that they left Derry with. He doesn't know why he kept them, but he can't get rid of them. 
> 
> -Richie literally had three managers tell him to fix his teeth and eventually it just wore him down. He required, literally, YEARS of subtle dental work. He also had about eight cavities; before that, he hadn't been to see a dentist in about ten years. 
> 
> -Eddie is a tenured professor at the University of Washington at Seattle, his and Richie's alma mater. Students LOVE him. He's consistently rated with a chili pepper on rate my professor, which confuses and freaks him out. (It makes Richie laugh HYSTERICALLY).
> 
> -Richie has an iPhone 6+ and Eddie uses an iPhone 6. They have argued fiendishly over which is better, an iPhone or an android, even though they're both on the same side of the debate.
> 
> -Eddie has a very large, healthily padded 401k and he and Richie have a stock portfolio. 
> 
> -Eddie and Richie fall more and more in love with each other every single day. 
> 
> YOUR LOVE GETS ME THROUGH, FOLKS. I can't wait to read your feedback, I have missed ALL of you tremendously. See you very soon for chapter 2! 
> 
> xoxoxoxo,  
> waxagent


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